


The Things We Carry

by KatjaLaRoux



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 49,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatjaLaRoux/pseuds/KatjaLaRoux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started at the Deep Roads. There were some slightly flirtatious texts. And then the Chantry in Kirkwall--and Marian Hawke's life--exploded. Quite literally. (Modern AU. Eventual fHawke/Nate.)<br/>...<br/>Inside, the air felt just as thick, but now instead of smelling like fish and piss like the streets of Kirkwall, it smelled like sweat and smoke. Marian wasn’t sure which was worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deep Roads

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea about the Deep Roads being a totally crappy club. And then this happened. I'm not totally sure what _this_ is other than Hawke dealing with a whole lot of emotions in a weird, modern Act 3/Post-Game world without magic. But she's kind of a still a mage. In a way. It'll make sense later. I think. I hope.  
>  Starts in the Deep Roads, where Hawke meets Nathaniel Howe.

Marian hunched her shoulders and pulled the collar of her leather jacket up against the fog. The air was thick and wet. Like most nights in Kirkwall. She could hear a muffled refrain coming from one of the bars she passed. One of the bars she avoided, not because of the live music but because of the crowd. The one Lowtown bar that catered to Hightown snobs wanting a taste of how the other side lived.

She turned the corner and made her way down the quiet, dark alley. If she hadn’t been there before, she might have missed the entrance to the Deep Roads. The only sign that there was anything there was a small neon light, a red arrow pointing at a slightly off angle, above the door. No sign. No bouncer. Just a dark door in the middle of a dark alley. The arrow flickered intermittently.

Inside, the air felt just as thick, but now instead of smelling like fish and piss like the streets of Kirkwall, it smelled like sweat and smoke. Marian wasn’t sure which was worse. She hated Kirkwall. Always had. But she hated the Deep Roads even more. The only reason she’d agreed to come was because Carver had sounded so bloody eager on the phone.

She understood. She really did. It had been nearly three months since she’d called him to let him know that she had broken things off with Sebastian. In truth, she and Carver hadn’t always been that close. There were times growing up when they didn’t even _like_ each other. But sometime after moving to Kirkwall, after Carver’s twin, Bethany, died, after Carver joined the Grey Wardens, they’d started to talk to each other like normal human beings, if not siblings. Then when their mother had died unexpectedly, they’d actually gotten to be quite close. The last of the Hawkes.

And when she’d walked away from Sebastian, Carver was the first person she’d called. The conversation started with her laughing hysterically about Sebastian’s “chaste marriage” proposal and ended with her sobbing about having forgotten who she was. Poor Carver just listened and promised he’d come visit as soon as he could. With his job, though, that meant three months. He’d called to say he’d be in town for work. He and his team, or some of them, would be staying an extra night. To blow off some steam. And Carver wanted her to come. She knew he meant well. She knew he was worried about her. She’d been mopey ever since her break up. And Carver just wanted to try to cheer her up the only way he knew how. With booze.

She pushed her way through Deep Roads, keeping an eye out for her brother but mostly looking for an empty table at the back. Somewhere she could sit, drink, and keep out of sight. She was not in the mood to be hit on or chatted up by some annoying blogger. After ordering a beer, she settled on a stool at one of the hightops in the back and looked around the club with a frown. She _really_ hated the Deep Roads. It was probably the darkest, dirtiest club in Kirkwall. Its saving grace, if you could even call it that, was that they had a decent beer selection. And the music was at least tolerable. Not like that dubstep crap the Bone Pit was always playing.

She unzipped her jacket and raked her fingers through her hair, reminding herself that she still needed a haircut. She hadn’t cut it since she’d left Sebastian. Then again, she hadn’t done a lot outside of her little flat since she’d left Sebastian. She took a swig from her beer and texted Carver to let him know where she was. She was sure he was on the dance floor somewhere. He’d find her eventually. She wondered how long it would take her to talk him into going to a different club or bar. Maybe the Hanged Man. She also hadn’t seen much of Varric or Isabela since she’d split with Sebastian. She felt a little bit guilty about that. Lost in thought about her friends, she didn’t notice the guy step up next to her.

“You’re Carver’s sister, aren’t you?”

Marian jumped at the voice that appeared next to her. She tried to play it off with a small cough and a nod of her head. She wasn’t sure if it worked.

“I still admit that on occasion.” She eyed the guy as she answered. Tall, long, dark hair pulled back at the temples, stubble, and a long, aquiline nose.

“Right,” he said, lips curling into a crooked smile. “I’m Nathaniel. Nate. I work with Carver.”

Marian took his offered hand and shook it. She recognized that name. Older, by-the-book Warden, tragic family history, also from Ferelden.

“You’re the roommate, right? It’s nice to meet you. Marian Hawke.” Then she chuckled. “But you knew that already.”

They made small talk for a few minutes. They established that he was, in fact, Carver’s roommate, also a Grey Warden, and also from Ferelden and that she was, in fact, the Champion of Kirkwall and the one responsible, at least in part, for Carver’s recruitment to the Grey Wardens.

“Did you want to sit down?” She asked, waving her hand at the empty stool next to her.

“Ah, I was actually headed to get another beer when I saw you. Would you like another?” He gestured at her bottle.

She picked up and gave it a shake. It was nearly empty. She hadn’t actually realized she’d drank that quickly.

“Sure,” she shrugged and reached for her wallet. But Nate had disappeared before she could pull it form her pocket. As she looked for him in the crowd, she found Carver instead.

“Annie! There you are.” Carver draped a sweaty arm over her shoulder. “Why are you hiding in the back? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

She couldn’t help but grin up at her brother. It had been nearly a year since she’d seen him last. He always had been big, built like an ogre. But he seemed even bigger now, any trace of baby fat completely gone and replaced by thick muscle.

“Maybe I was hiding from big, sweaty oafs like you?”

“Oh, shut it,” he said, grin never leaving his face. “I thought you were coming out tonight to get drunk and dance and forget about that self-righteous piece of shit. But you’re back here moping?”

“I’m not moping.” She poked him in the side. “And I wasn’t thinking about him until you brought him up.”

“Maker’s balls. Sorry, Annie.”

Just as Marian was about to mention having met Nate, he appeared just off of Carver’s shoulder and set two cold beers on the table.

“There you are, Nate!” Carver grinned.

Marian watched Carver’s eyes narrow as they darted from the bottles and back up to Nate.

“You bought my sister a beer,” he said, his tone somewhere between a question and an observation and just a little suspicious.

Nate just shrugged. And Marian rolled her eyes and said, “You always were a sharp one, Carver Hawke.”

“And for that…” he winked at Marian just before grabbing her fresh beer and drinking a quarter of it in one swallow. When he set it back on the table, he pointed at Nate. “We’re trying to _not_ let her mope tonight. Can you do that?”

“Go dance, Carver.” Marian shrugged his arm off her shoulder. He flashed her another grin and darted back out to the dance floor.

“Maker, I think I liked him better when he hated my guts,” she sighed.

Nate chuckled and slid onto the stool next to her. “I have a hard time believing he ever hated you. I’ve only ever heard good things.”

“He used to be such a grump. All the time. He used to grumble about being in my shadow, like I was holding him back on purpose.” She shook her head and gestured to the dance floor. “It’s strange to see him like this. Happy. Trying to take care of me.”

Nate was quiet for a moment, taking a long drink from his beer, looking out over the dance floor.

“He was pretty surly when I first met him, I suppose.” Nate said, his voice thoughtful. “But we see a lot in our job, you know. And he’s good at what he does. And I think he…grew into it.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And I think he’s worried about you.”

Marian picked at the label on her beer bottle a little unsure of how to respond to that, wondering just how much Carver talked about her.

Nate interrupted her thoughts, asking, “So why exactly are you not allowed to mope tonight? Is it related to the ‘self-righteous piece of shit’ he mentioned?”

Marian nearly choked on her beer. “You heard that?”

“I did.” His lips twitched at the corners.

“Yeah. That’s one of many names Carver has for him.”

“If it helps, he calls my ex the Abomination.” He gave a slight shrug as Marian let out a laugh, and he added, “And like most of his nicknames, it was deserved. He turned into a bit of a monster at the end, really.”

Marian caught both the gender of Nate’s ex and the hint of resignation in his voice. She held out her beer.

“To getting over men who deserve Carver’s nicknames, then.”

He smiled and tapped the neck of her beer bottle with his own and took a swig.

The fell into easy conversation after that, sharing stories about growing up in Ferelden, the disgraced son of a disgraced politician who joined the Wardens because he had nowhere else to go and the oldest daughter of a starving artist just trying to get by. But, as always, the conversation came back around to Marian’s title. She cringed inwardly as Nate asked what the “Champion” had been up to recently.

“I haven’t seen much in the news,” he commented.

“I…haven’t been working much recently.” She admitted. “Well, at least, not working like that. I stopped doing portraits and such for the wealthy families of Kirkwall a few months ago. I’m just teaching art at the orphanage right now. But I do occasionally work for the City Guard. Facial composites, sketches of suspects, that sort of thing.”

“You make it sound like those are disappointing jobs.”

“Do I? Maker, not at all. I actually love teaching. And the stuff for the Guards is good, it’s meaningful work. Much better than some of the bullshit I’ve done in the past, marketing and commission pieces for nobles. It’s just that’s the stuff most people know me for. Hawke. Champion.” She shrugged, knowing she was dangerously close to bringing up Sebastian again. “I’ll never get away from that blighted statue down at the docks. But you can’t say no to the Arishok.”

“No, I suppose you can’t,” Nate chuckled.

“I’m hungry,” Carver announced, interrupting their conversation as he marched up to the table again.

Marian smiled up at her brother. “Hanged Man?”

“Hanged Man,” he nodded.

“Hanged Man?” Nate asked, arching an eyebrow at them both.

“Beer’s closer to water than beer, the only things edible are deep fried, but it’s Annie’s favorite.”

“Way to sell it, Carver.” Marian laughed.


	2. Hanged Man

The Hanged Man was Marian’s favorite hangout. Though Carver was right about the piss poor ale and the greasy food. But still, the Hanged Man felt like home. It was the dive she’d spent her time in back when she was working for Red Iron Marketing for peanuts of a paycheck. It was the bar she’d met her two best friends in Kirkwall. And it was one of the only places in the city where everyone knew her and didn’t give a shit that she was the Champion. She liked the place so much, she’d bought a little one bedroom flat just down the block, even though she could have afforded a much bigger, much nicer place in Hightown.

They hadn’t stepped more than a foot into the Hanged Man before Varric spotted her and swooped in.

“Maker’s breath, Hawke! I haven’t seen you months—is that _Junior_ with you?”

He ushered them to his table in the corner and ordered everyone a round. Marian quickly slipped into her old spot at the far end of the booth, Nate and Caver slid in across from her, and Varric pulled up his usual chair at the end of the table. It was only a few seconds later that Isabela appeared from somewhere on the other side of the bar and scooted in next to Marian.

Marian had spent hundreds of nights in that booth with Varric and Isabela. Others had come and gone over the years, but Varric and Isabela had always stuck by her side. Other than Carver, they were the only two people in Kirkwall she truly trusted anymore.

While Carver handled introductions, Marian checked the two new text messages on her phone. And Isabela, nosy as ever, leaned over and saw Sebastian’s name there.

“Oh, kitten,” she said, loudly enough to get everyone else’s attention, “I thought you were done with him.”

“Who? Choir Boy?” Varric asked from the other end of the table, lip curled up like he smelled something foul.

“He just texted me, that’s all.” She set the phone on the table in front of her, watching as the lit screen flipped to black and wishing Isabela hadn’t said anything about it.

“You’re still talking to him?” Carver asked, eyebrows high on his forehead.

“No,” she said firmly. She shook her head and looked at the phone. “He just…checks in every once in a while.” She tried to shrug it off and idly spun her phone with her finger a few times.

“That’s the problem, you know. He won’t just go away. He’s like…a bad rash.” Isabela nodded. “Every time you think you’ve gotten rid of him, he comes back with a vengeance.”

Varric leaned forward on his elbows, catching Marian’s eye. “You made the right decision, Hawke. You’ve got—”

“Wait,” Nate interrupted. “This was your decision?”

“You didn’t hear the story?” Varric said, leaning forward with a grin.

“Varric…” Marian groaned.                  

Norah brought their beers and a couple of baskets of fries just as Varric launched into his story.

Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love with boy.

“At first, the guy’s a regular Prince Charming,” Varric said, leaning back in his chair with his beer in one hand.

Carver snorted, “Yeah, that didn’t last.” But Varric just ignored him and continued.

“But he’s really religious. He’s a Chantry brother, but he’s renounced his vows for whatever reason. But he’s still ‘devout.’” Varric made the air quotes with his fingers and shook his head before continuing. “It turns out he doesn’t really approve of his new girlfriend’s friends and their drinking and card playing. And while he claims to appreciate her art, he doesn’t really like that she spends so much time working with the more unsavory folks around town. He wants her to only do the Maker’s work.”

Isabela chuckled and chimed if, “The Hawke we met all those years ago would have probably punched him if he’d try to tell her what to do with her art.”

“True,” Varric nods. “And maybe our prince knows that, so he’s sly about it. And he strings her along for six years. And she follows all the rules, plays all his little games. For. Six. Years. And then he decides to go back.”

“To the Chantry?” Nate asked with a small frown.

Carver sneered and nodded. “Then that self-righteous lacquered pilot whale piece of shit has the nerve to ask her for…what was it, Annie? A chaste marriage?”

Marian groaned and put her head in her hands, not wanting to participate in her own humiliation.

“A chaste marriage? After being together for six years?” Nate arched one eyebrow.

“We were never together…like that,” Marian mumbled into her hands, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks.

“You should have known there was something wrong when he told you he wouldn’t sleep with you, kitten.”

“Are we really having this conversation?” Marian sighed and dropped her hands, trying to look anywhere but at Nate or her brother, settling on a spot on the table.

“Yes, Hawke. If he’s texting you, and you’re even thinking of replying, we are definitely having this conversation,” Varric said pointedly.

Isabela slung her arm over Marian’s shoulders and said, “We just want to see you happy, kitten.”

“I know,” Marian leaned into her.

“And you’ve been really unhappy,” Varric added.

“I know,” she repeated, nodding this time.

“For years, Hawke,” he added.

“I know, Varric.” She sat up and met his gaze. “Can we stop talking about what an idiot I am now?”

“The only reason I won’t call you an idiot is that you left him,” Carver said.

Marian shrugged, “And now he won’t leave me alone.”

“Here,” Carver reached for her phone. “Let’s drop him a hint.”

“Don’t.” Marian snatched it back before he could get to it.

“I wasn’t going to text him. _You’re_ not going to text him. I just think we should take a picture of everybody, post it, and tag you. That way that puffed-up Chantry prat will see that you’ve returned to your wild, wild ways.” Carver grinned mischievously.

“When did you get so devious, Junior?” Varric chuckled.

Carver’s grin widened into something bit more menacing. “I’m cleverer than I look.”

Nate snorted at that but slid his phone across the table to Varric. “Everyone on one side?” He suggested.

Varric called Norah back over to have her take the picture. The server took two shots, returned Nate’s phone, and disappeared to pick up another round of drinks.

“Send that to me, and I’ll post it,” Carver said when they returned to their spots.

“Will you send it to me, too?” Marian asked. Nate nodded, and she gave him her number. While he texted the picture, Marian made an effort to turn the conversation away from her.

“Varric, you know how you keep talking about writing a book about a Grey Warden, but there are too many secrets? You’ve got two right here you can harass for information.”

Satisfied at the eager gleam in Varric’s eyes, she slouched down in her seat and propped her feet on the bench across from her. She checked her phone. When Isabela nudged her with her elbow, Marian tilted the phone to prove she was just looking at the picture Nate had sent, not texting Sebastian back. Surprisingly, it was a good picture. Isabela had her arms around both Marian and Varric, a sultry smile on her face. Nate and Carver were behind them, leaning over the back of the booth, Carver making a ridiculous duck face and Nate with a lopsided grin, his eyes turned ever so slightly in Marian’s direction. Marian looked up at her brother and his friend, who were now trying to answer Varric’s onslaught of questions without actually answering them.

She watched as Carver snorted at some comment Varric made while Nate chuckled next to him. Nate had told her that Carver was good at his job and that he’d grown into it, but watching them now, she wondered how much of Carver’s grumbling had been tempered by Nate’s influence. There was something similar about the sort of calm confidence they both had.

“Your brother certainly has…filled out,” Isabela purred in her ear.

“No, Isabela,” she groaned. “Just…no.”

“Spoil sport,” she laughed. After a moment, she slid her arm around Marian’s shoulders and whispered, “His friend is cute though.”

“I…hadn’t noticed.” Marian had, of course, noticed. And by the way Isabela chuckled, her friend probably knew that she’d noticed.

“He has pretty eyes,” Isabela added. “Do you think he likes pirates? Or Champions?”

Marian rolled her eyes. Nate was Carver’s friend and a Grey Warden. She was probably off-limits in some silly unspoken rule about dating someone’s sister, and she knew from talking to Carver that Wardens and relationships didn’t often mix. And Nate’s ex was male. And there were a hundred other complications, not the least of which was the fact that she wasn’t really looking for anything herself, so none of this mattered. It didn’t matter that his chuckle sent a whirlwind of butterflies scattering through her stomach or that he did, in fact, have pretty eyes. Of course, she was sure that was just the beer talking.

She leaned into Isabela and whispered to her friend, “It doesn’t matter, Is.”

She turned her attention back to the conversation, which had shifted away from Warden secrets. Varric was instead regaling her brother with one of his Champion stories, one of the ones where he makes it sound like Marian’s art saved dozens of lives. When Varric’s story got completely outrageous, she shook her head and corrected him. “There were no dragons involved, Varric.”

“My story, Hawke. Not yours,” Varric admonished her.

Marian let out a huff of air, adjusting her feet on the bench across from her, and closed her eyes. She was just about to correct another point of Varric’s story when she noticed a slight weight on her ankle. She cracked one eye open and looked across the table at Nate. He was clearly paying attention to Varric, but his hand was resting on her ankle. She could barely feel it through the thick leather of her boot, but it was definitely there.

She shifted her attention back to Varric, who had launched into one of the ones that she actually liked. It was before she was given the “Champion” title, before she had to think of how her actions would look in the media, before Sebastian’s influence took over. Back when Hawke was just an artist with an uncanny eye for detail who liked to mess with the Templars.

Marian had always enjoyed making Templars’ lives more difficult, but Kirkwall’s Templars were particularly vile. Their job, really, was just to identify and monitor the Gifted and, occasionally, pull in children whose Gifts were deemed either useful to the Chantry or dangerous. But in Kirkwall, the Templars were overzealous under Knight-Commander Meredith’s rule.

As Varric reached the end of the story, his eyes were locked on Nate, the only one who hadn’t heard it before.

“So what does Hawke do? She draws a poster of him beating up on one of the kids. Makes a couple hundred copies and plasters them all over the walls of Kirkwall. It was beautiful.”

Marian smiled ruefully. “Too bad everyone prefers kidnappings and car bombings these days.”


	3. Coffee

Marian was wide awake, curled on her side, listening to Carver snore next to her. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when he’d asked to crash at her place. And based on the exasperated sigh that Nate only partially concealed, Nate was under the impression that this was the plan all along and was unaware that Carver hadn’t actually _asked_ her. He’d even apologized to her as they walked the two blocks from the Hanged Man to her little flat. She’d just laughed.

“I was expecting it. My baby brother is nothing if not predictable.”

And while it was true she was expecting Carver, even having pulled a box of his old clothes from the top of her closet for him, she wasn’t really prepared for a second guest. Then again, her apartment was never prepared for that, which is why Carver was taking up three-quarters of her bed. Nate was sleeping on the couch, a thought that brought a small but involuntary smile to her face. The moment she realized she was smiling—and _why_ she was smiling—she mentally kicked herself. The night before, she’d blamed the beer, but now she realized she was probably just lonely. Before she spiraled into a complete mess of self-pity, she shook off those thoughts.

Coffee quickly became the most prominent thought in Marian’s head. The kitchen was on the opposite side of the living room, meaning she’d have to sneak past Nate without waking him up. Unless, like Carver, he could sleep through a thundering herd of brontos.

She gave Carver another half-hearted shove, just to see if he’d move at all, before rolling out of bed and crossing the living room as quietly as she could. Once in the kitchen, she started the coffee pot and settled into the blue chair, her favorite of the mismatched set crowded around the little table. She pulled her feet up underneath her and turned on her phone.

Four new messages. Three from Sebastian. One from Isabela. She read that one first.

_I: Tell your brother he should visit more often._

Marian rolled her eyes. Instead of reading Sebastian’s messages, she opened up the picture Carver had posted and scanned the comments there. She cringed when she saw the caption he’d put on the picture, announcing that she was “on the market.” Then she saw the friend request notification. From Nathaniel Howe. She felt the same small smile creep across her lips. Maybe she was lonely. Or maybe there was genuinely something about Nate. Before she had a chance to give those thoughts much purchase, a voice appeared next to her.

“How long have you been up?”

Marian jerked her head up to see Nate leaning against the door jamb.

“How long have you been standing there?” She countered.

He shrugged and walked over to sit across from her at the table.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” she asked.

He shook his head then nodded his chin at the phone. “Anything good?”

“Some of your friends…or Caver’s friends...want my phone number. Since I’m ‘on the market’ and all,” she said dryly and held the phone out to him.

“Hm. Yeah, I wouldn’t bother with any of these guys, if I were you,” he said as he scrolled through. “Well, maybe Faren. He’s decent.” He shrugged then said, “You have some unread messages here.”

Marian sighed, “I know. It’s Sebastian. I don’t know if I want to read them.”

Nate arched an eyebrow. And she found herself momentarily distracted by details in his face that she hadn’t noticed in the dim lights of the Deep Roads or the Hanged Man. He had fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the only sign she’d really noticed that he was about five years her senior. There was also a long, thin scar underneath his right eye. She still thought he had pretty eyes. Pretty, soft grey eyes with long lashes that should have contradicted the square angle of his jaw and prominent line of his nose. But she found the combination striking.

When she didn’t respond to his question right away, he pressed. “Why not?”

That snapped her back to the conversation and brought a faint blush to her cheeks. Flustered, she stumbled through her reply.

“Oh. Sorry. Um. I guess if I read them, I’ll be more likely to answer him. Especially if he’s worried. Which he probably is, since I didn’t respond last night. But I should check them. In case it’s actually something important.”

Wordlessly, he handed the phone back. She opened the messages.

“Wondering why I’m not responding. Wondering if I’m okay. Oh. This is nice. He saw the picture online. And is happy to see I’m out with my brother. But disappointed that I let my brother flaunt my availability like I’m a piece of meat. Great.” She dropped the phone to the table and pushed it away.

“I’m sorry, Marian.” Nate said, shaking his head.

She let out a huff of air. “It’s fine. I…” She tapped her fingers on the table, frustration slowly mounting, and didn’t finish her thought.

“It’s not fine.” Nate said, voice somber. “Not really. It’s manipulative. You didn’t reply right away, so he throws an insult at you. To try to force you to respond. The Abomination used to try to control things like that all the time.” He shook his head at the memory.

Marian blinked at him, considered what he was saying, and realized he was right. She spent years watching Sebastian hide his condemnation behind a sad smile or bury a dictate beneath words of encouragement, manipulating others with his image of a sophisticated and serene Chantry brother. She hadn’t even noticed him doing the same thing to her until the last few months they were together. She picked up her phone again and deleted the messages.

“You have a lot of postcards,” Nate observed suddenly.

Marian followed his gaze. The kitchen cabinets were old and painted a shade of green reminiscent of mushy peas. Rather than repainting them, Marian had just plastered them with postcards, pictures, and pages torn from cookbooks.

She breathed a small laugh. “Isabela travels a lot.”

“Is that Carver?” He stood quickly and crossed the room to look closer at a pencil drawing taped up near the refrigerator.

“It is,” she said as she followed Nate and stood next to him. “Carver and Bethany. The day we went to see our first professional wallop match.” She smiled wistfully at the memory.

“Denerim Buccaneers.” Nate nodded, his eyes still on the picture, squinting slightly. “Carver told me the story…you drew this?”

“I did,” Marian said quietly. Nate did turn to her then.

“The drawings Carver’s got at home are all cartoons, caricatures. I’ve seen the portraits, in the news and all. But this is…” He turned back to the drawing. “I thought it was a black and white photo until I got up close.”

“Carver didn’t tell you?” Marian was a little surprised. From the previous night’s conversations, it was clear Nate and her brother were close. She wondered why he wouldn’t have mentioned this detail.

“That you were Gifted? I suspected, based on the stories I’ve heard. But no, he never told me.”

He had turned back to her as he spoke, and on seeing her confused expression, he added with a small, knowing smile, “If everything else I know about your family is true, Carver was probably trained to _not_ tell people.”

“He was. I guess I just assumed…” She shook her head, a little bemused. Carver was still trying to protect her, even though they lived in different cities. And she realized that he probably would be offended that this surprised her. She chuckled. “Even with my title and pseudo-celebrity status here, no one really _knows_. Well, Varric and Isabela. And a couple of other friends we used to…ah, get into trouble with back in the day.” She gestured at the picture. “I have Eidetic memory. Some people call it photographic memory, which is not quite accurate for how it works. Although since my outlet happens to be art, it calling it photographic makes a bit of sense.”

“So those stories Varric told last night, the posters, the graffiti…you really did all of that?”

Marian looked carefully at Nate, trying to read his expression. She was used to not trusting people with those stories and that information. Varric’s stories were often just this side of fantastic—if not completely ridiculous—so she didn’t worry about _him_ telling the stories. But to baldly admit the laws she’d broken and the trouble she’d caused was a completely different matter. But Nate had a faint smile and a hint of amusement in his eyes, and Carver trusted him.

So she nodded.

“Maker,” he chuckled. “There are some Gifted in the Wardens and some old friends of mine who would probably love to thank you for some of that.”

Marian shrugged, pulled two mugs from the cabinet and poured coffee as she spoke. “And there are quite a few Chantry devotees and Templar-sympathizers who would probably love to see me thrown in Aeonar for some of that. Or worse.”

Nate frowned and asked, “The bombings and kidnappings…we hear about them, of course, but…how bad are things here? Really?”

Marian sighed, “Bad. Getting worse.” Marian passed Nate a mug and pulled out the milk from the fridge. She offered it to him first, and when he shook his head, she poured a splash in her own mug, then sat back at the table, speaking the entire time.

“There was a girl who got caught escaping the Gallows last week. She didn’t even have an identifiable Gift. She was just really smart. But they executed her because they said…well, _Meredith_ said that they needed to make an example of her. She was eight.”

“I heard about that one.” Nate sat across from her, still frowning.

“Did you also hear about the retaliation?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure the Wardens assigned to keeping an eye on things here have, but I’m not officially involved in that.”

“Three days ago, someone threw a couple of Molotov cocktails at the front window of a Templar’s house. While he was having dinner with his family.”

His frown deepened. “That…wasn’t in the news.”

“I’m not surprised. They keep covering things up. It’s not the first time. And I’m sure it won’t be the last. I may dislike the Templars as an organization, and I know the corruption in their ranks runs deep, but that kind of violence is...it doesn’t _do_ anything but make people more angry. The Templars will take out their anger on another Gifted kid…and covering it up only makes the revolutionaries try harder to get someone’s attention…and it just…. _escalates_.”

Marian let out frustrated sigh and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, Nate was watching her with concern. She continued talking.

“I’ve seen the manifesto circulating. The ‘Mage Underground,’ they call themselves. Or at least, that’s one of the groups. If Meredith and Orsino keeping brushing things under the rug, if the Grand Cleric keeps ignoring what’s happening, if someone doesn’t start making some kind of compromises…this whole city is going to go up in flames.”

Marian’s words hung heavy in the air of her little kitchen.

Nate held her gaze for a long moment then said, “Perhaps we should be keeping a closer eye on you and the situation in Kirkwall.”


	4. Texts: Tell Him Yourself

For two weeks, Kirkwall saw a rare stretch of sunny days. Even in the middle of summer, that much sunshine was unusual. The evening out with Carver turned out to be the kick in the ass Marian needed, and she found herself going out more often. She still avoided Hightown, where she was most likely to run into Sebastian, but between teaching at the orphanage, meeting Varric and Isabela for drinks, and the occasional walk through the Lowtown market, she was almost feeling normal again.

She would have successfully pushed Nate out of her mind if Isabela hadn’t consistently asked about him. That was, of course, Marian’s fault. If she had never told Isabela about the awkward exchange she’d had with Carver when he and his roommate left that afternoon, Isabela probably would have forgotten all about meeting Nathaniel Howe.

But, no. Marian made the mistake of mentioning Carver’s mischievous grin when Nate gave her a farewell hug. And then she’d made an even bigger mistake when she showed Isabela the text message exchange she’d had with Carver immediately after.

_M: Not trying to play matchmaker, are you little brother?_

_C: Not on purpose._

_C: He’s a good guy._

_M: Did you miss the part where he dates men?_

_C: Women too. I’m not an idiot._

_C: But get over pilot whale first._

And Isabela wouldn’t shut up about the whole situation until Marian finally told her to, threatening to withhold information about Carver’s next visit if she didn’t.

Just when she thought she’d be able to forget about the silly little crush she’d developed, Carver brought Nate up. Marian was sitting at one of Kirkwall’s few outdoor cafés, relishing the warmth of what was forecasted to be the last day of sunshine for months, when she got the text message from Carver.

_C: Nate says hi._

_M: Really Carver? Knock it off._

_C: Really. He asked how you were doing._

_C: How are you doing?_

_M: Tell Nate I’m good. Tell yourself to stop being an idiot._

_C: Pilot whale?_

_M: Haven’t been in touch._

_C: Good._

She couldn’t help but smile, both at the thought that Nate was asking about her and at her brother’s concern. And she was grateful Isabela wasn’t there to ask what she as smiling about. But then she pulled herself back to the reality of the situation. Carver’s roommate. Grey Warden. Not even in Kirkwall. Very likely not interested. She swallowed the smile, drank the last of her glass of wine, and headed home.

Two weeks later, the orphanage where she was teaching art classes did a career week. One of her students drew himself as a Grey Warden, complete with the dark suit, sunglasses, and gun. Before she left the orphanage that afternoon, she took a picture of the drawing and texted it to Carver.

After three days, he still hadn’t responded. She sent another text, to follow up, but got nothing back. It wasn’t too unusual. His job took him to places where he couldn’t always respond. But three days was a long time. She tried to convince herself to wait one more day, but once she started thinking something might be wrong, she couldn’t let go of it. And she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

Trying to push back the anxiety that was building in her gut, she scrolled through her contacts. She didn’t know if Carver had ever given her a number or a name in case something happened. Nate was the only person she could think of, but then she remembered he’d texted her the picture from the Hanged Man. She found his number and sent him a message.

_M: Hi. This is Carver’s sister. Sorry to bug you. I haven’t heard from him in a few days. Getting worried. Any news you can tell me?_

She tried to read while she waited for a response, but after twenty minutes, she realized she’d been staring at the same sentence the entire time. She sighed and closed the book. Just as she checked her phone for the tenth time, as if it might forget to chime if a new message came in, she got her response.

_N: Hi. He’s fine. He got hurt and was out of commission for a bit, but he’s fine. I’ll tell him to call._

_M: Thank you._

For a minute, she debated whether or not to say anything else, but her concern and curiosity got the better of her.

_M: Were you with him? Are you okay?_

_N: I was. I got lucky though. I’m okay._

_N: How are you? Aside from worried._

_M: Good. Better now. Sometimes I hate his job._

_N: I know. Sometimes I hate it too._

_M: Thanks again. Sorry to have bothered you._

_N: Not a bother. Good to hear from you._

She couldn’t think of a reply to that, so she just left it alone. A few minutes later, she got a call from Carver. He sounded tired, but he reassured her he was fine and apologized for not calling. And for getting hurt. And said he loved her. That’s when she knew it really had been bad. She wanted to text Nate again, to ask how bad. But talked herself out of it.

A week later, as she was walking back from another worthless meeting with Meredith, she heard from Carver again.

_C: Have you heard from nate?_

_M: No. Why? Is something wrong?_

_C: No. He asked how you were doing. Told him to ask you himself. Wondered if he did._

_M: No. He didn’t. Tell him I’m good._

_C: Tell him yourself._

Marian snorted a laugh. When she got back to her apartment, she pulled up Nate’s number.

_M: I’m doing good._

_N: Ha! Your brother’s an ass. I’m glad though._

_M: You?_

_N: Good. It’s been quiet since the thing with your brother._

_M: Quiet is good._

_N: Yes, it is._

She thought a bit before sending her next message, fingers hovering over the screen.

_M: You know you can text me, if you want. You don’t have to ask carver._

_N: Noted._

But she didn’t hear anything from either of them for another couple of weeks.

She did, however, get called into the City Guard’s office to do a facial composite of a man who had left a bomb in a trash can in the Chantry courtyard. So she talked with the two witnesses who had called the guard and worked up a sketch. And on her way out, she ran into Sebastian. If she’d seen him on the stairs, she might have tried to turn the other way. But it was too late.

“Hawke. How are you?” He smiled down at her.

“Fine, Sebastian. You?”

“I’m doing well. The Grand Cleric has asked me to accompany her to Orlais. It’s quite an honor.” He paused and looked at her, head tilted just slightly to one side. “You look tired, Hawke.”

She heard both the question and the hint of accusation in his statement and wondered if he was trying to find out if she’d been out drinking again. She exhaled slowly and kept her voice level.

“I’m fine. I’ve been working, doing a sketch for the Guard. Those can take a long time, you know.”

“Ah. It’s good that they have you though. You’re a good person, Hawke.” He smiled a little sadly then, and Marian felt a twinge of guilt. But then he said, “I’m glad I haven’t seen pictures of you out again. You’re so much better than that. I’ve been praying for you. I’m glad you’re focusing on the Maker’s work again.”

The twinge of guilt was replaced by a surge of anger. She was right. He was trying to figure out what she’d been up to. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to pray for her, that she didn’t think the Maker cared if she drank or not, that she could go out and do whatever she wanted. But she just smiled and thanked him politely and made her exit.

As soon as she was outside, she texted Carver.

_M: Pilot whale says he’s been praying for me._

_C: Seriously?_

_M: Seriously. Ran into him at the keep. He was still mad about the pic you posted that night._

_C: Go out with Varric and Is and take more._

_M: Maybe you should come back and come with me._

_C: Maybe I should._

She did go out with Varric and Isabela that night. She drank a lot and stayed out too late, but no pictures were taken. When she left the Hanged Man, she was still feeling restless, the afternoon’s frustrations still buzzing under her skin. She went home and rummaged through her art supplies. When she found a can of white spray paint, she tucked it into her pocket. Then she zipped her jacket up high, pulled the hood up over her head, and headed back out.

Marian wound her way through back alleys and side streets until she reached the back wall of the Chantry courtyard. She knew exactly where the bomb had been found. While she was grateful it had been spotted before it went off, the fact that it was being dismissed was maddening. Even the guard who had called her in admitted the sketch was just a formality for the sake of the witnesses. They wouldn’t really investigate. They were worried about frightening the good people of Hightown.

Even as Marian waited patiently in the shadows for the guard’s shift change, she knew her work would most likely be scrubbed off before too many people saw it. But hopefully someone would see it. Hopefully someone would understand.

As soon as the late night guard turned towards the Keep, Marian stepped out of the shadows and darted to the spot next to the trash can that had almost been blown up. Focusing on speed rather than style, she scrawled a few short lines from the Canticle of Threnodies across the stone wall.

She knew the lines were out of context. And she knew painting them wouldn’t really make her feel better. But she still hoped someone would understand.

_By your will_   
_All things are done._   
_Yet you do nothing._


	5. Texts: Be Careful

It had been two weeks since her half-assed message to the Chantry. It had lasted about half a day before being meticulously scrubbed off. She’d spent that day sitting in the Chantry courtyard with her sketchbook, watching people read the lines, looking for some kind of reaction.

It was wholly unsatisfying. Not because they didn’t react—a few did smile ruefully or nod in agreement as they walked by—but because the longer she sat there, the more she realized that her half-drunk accusation only added to the problem. Painting a few lines to antagonize the Chantry may have been a lot safer than a bomb, but it was no more productive. She’d left the courtyard feeling unsettled and cranky and walked home only to find a message from Orsino asking for her help.

That little invitation, however, led to a larger responsibility than Marian ever wanted. She got dragged into a public argument between Orsino and Meredith. It was the same debate the two politicians had been circling around for years. Neither mentioned the kidnappings or bombs or manifestos. Just the Gifted. And how they should be “handled.” What the laws allow and didn’t allow. What the laws _should_ allow and _shouldn’t_ allow.

Marian’s pseudo-celebrity status somehow made her opinion important, so when the reporters spotted the Champion in the crowd, they pestered her for an interview. There was so much about the situation that she hated—and not just that she kept getting dragged into the middle of it just because she made a name for herself with some of her artwork. She desperately wanted to say that humans should be treated like humans and hope that was enough. But she didn’t say it because she knew it _wasn’t_ enough. She knew it would only fan the flames.

Instead, she smiled politely and pushed her beliefs aside. She aimed for diplomacy. She tried to encourage compromise and call for peace. Of course, the Champion was just a title. It didn’t give her any real power. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t _try_.

After the interview, she shoved her hands deep in her pockets and trudged back to Lowtown and the Hanged Man, wondering if she was just as bad as the Chantry. Varric tried to tell her there was a difference between being willfully ignorant and trying to get people to work together.

A week after the interview, she still wasn’t sure she believed that. She was watching the rain fall slow and steady from the relative warmth of Lirene’s café when she heard from Nate for the first time in over a month.

_N: Carver got hurt again, but he’s okay. I wanted to let you know. Just in case._

_M: Thank you._

_N: Of course. How are you?_

_M: Fine. You?_

_N: Good._

She sighed as she reread the short conversation. Her instinct was to ask what happened, even though she knew he probably couldn’t tell her. But after a minute, she decided asking wouldn’t hurt.

_M: You can’t tell me what happened can you?_

_N: Actually I can. It wasn’t work this time. Bar fight._

She snorted out a laugh and ignored the looks from the people around her.

_M: Really?_

_N: Really._

_N: We were defending you._

_M: I wasn’t there._

_N: Thing on tv about you. Interview. There was a jerk at the bar with a big mouth._

She wondered what some stranger could have said about her to make Carver start a fight. But as she thought about the options, she decided she actually _didn’t_ want to know what was said about her. She opted for a snarky response instead.

_M: There’s always a jerk at the bar with a big mouth._

_N: Are you upset?_

_M: No._

_M: Was it the interview in the Gallows?_

_N: Yes._

_M: Ok._

_N: Why did they interview you? I didn’t catch the beginning._

_M: Politics. Orsino and Meredith. They keep dragging the “Champion” into it._

_N: Maker. I’m sorry._

_M: Thanks._

_M: And thanks for defending me. I think._

_N: Are you okay? That can’t have been easy._

_M: Yeah. I’m fine. Just feels like I’m going to make enemies, no matter what I say._

_N: Be careful._

Two days later, she finally heard from her brother.

_C: Heard what happened. You ok?_

_M: Fine. Are you?_

_C: Just bruises. Nate’s worried about you._

_M: I really am fine. Been taking my taser with me to the orphanage. In case I pissed someone off._

_C: That’s wrong in so many ways._

_M: What? Why shouldn’t I be allowed to shoot lightning at fools?_

_C: Think of the children._

_M: I promise I won’t aim at them._

_C: Pilot whale?_

_M: Nothing to report, ser._

_C: Good._

Another week passed with little actual news but a whole lot of rumblings and rumors before she heard from Nate again.

_N: Hi._

_M: Hi._

_N: How are you?_

_M: I’m fine. Stop worrying._

_N: I wasn’t worried._

_M: Liar. Carver told me you were._

_N: I hope he doesn’t tell you everything I say to him._

_M: Why? What are you saying to him?_

_N: Nothing important._

_M: But important enough that you don’t want me to know?_

_N: Something like that._

_N: Anything new?_

_M: No._

_N: Good._

It was only a few days after that Meredith enlisted the Champion’s help. Marian grumbled all the way to the Gallows to meet with the woman and grumbled all the way back to Lowtown as she started looking in on these supposed “revolutionaries” Meredith was concerned about.

It was a ridiculous project. Marian knew Meredith was hoping she’d see these particular revolutionaries as dangerous and side with the Templars. Marian also knew it was Meredith’s not-so subtle attempt to get someone to gather information for her on the people fighting on behalf of the Gifted. She tried to shrug off the transparent machinations and made her way to the landing near the docks where these revolutionaries were meeting. Even though her involvement was at Meredith’s behest, maybe she could do something useful.

The rain had let up, but the sky was still dark. And even before Marian made her presence known, she could tell it was a bad idea to get involved. The guards standing nearby looked uncomfortable and twitchy. The leaders at the front of the group, a swarthy young man with a beard the size of a small child and a tall, lanky blonde woman, looked on edge. Marian waved politely and approached them, but they immediately started arguing with each other in hushed whispers. As they argued, the tensions in the crowd rose. One rock was thrown and things quickly fell apart, the small rally turning into a full blown riot before the Champion even had a chance to speak to anyone.

After bandaging the cuts on her face and shoulder, Marian texted Carver.

_M: Two people died today. When I was trying to help._

_C: Maker’s balls. You ok?_

_M: Yeah._

_C: Do you need me to come?_

_M: No. Thanks though._

_C: Tell Nate you’re ok. He’s on assignment. He’ll hear news and worry._

She bit back the smile that thought brought to her face, even though no one could see her. It took her a few minutes to figure out what to tell Nate.

_M: Before you hear news from Kirkwall and worry…I’m okay._

It was a couple of hours before she got a response.

_N: We got the reports. You weren’t hurt?_

_M: Just some scratches. Nothing major._

_N: It sounded bad._

_M: It was. A total disaster. I shouldn’t have been there. I hate that people think I have some kind of magical powers to fix these things._

_N: Are you really okay?_

_M: I think so._

_N: Be careful._

_M: You, too._

She went to bed that night feeling more than a little uneasy, wondering what she could have done differently to keep things from escalating the way they did. The next morning, Nate texted her again.

_N: They tell me dolphins are a good omen. Sharing the good omen with you._

And then he sent a picture. Of dolphins. She could stop herself from grinning and set the picture as the background on her phone.

_M: Where are you? Am I allowed to ask?_

_N: The dolphins were near Estwatch._

_N: I hope you’re okay._

_M: I am. Thank you._

He texted her again the next day but late at night. This time he sent a picture of the sunset over what looked like open ocean. There were two gulls flying by. And the clouds were purple. She made a mental note to show Isabela the picture—she was always talking about sunsets at sea being the best kind.

_N: Sunsets are the only good thing about boat trips._

_M: It’s probably a ship, not a boat._

_N: Says the girl with the pirate friend._

_M: At least you know she’s not lying about being a pirate._

_N: The boots looked real._

_M: I’ll tell her you said so._

_N: Do that._

The next day, one of her students drew a picture of a knight fighting a dragon. She took a picture of the drawing and sent it to Nate.

_M: He said I was the knight. And the dragon was all the bad guys in Kirkwall._

_N: I don’t think you’re that tall._

_M: Thanks for that._

_N: And can you fight with a sword?_

_M: I can. But I prefer using magic._

_N: Of course you do._

_N: Speaking of bad guys in Kirkwall…?_

_M: Another car bomb early this morning. But no one was hurt._

_N: That’s good._

A few days after that, Marian got inadvertently caught up in more riots. She was just walking by the two groups, but when she realized what was going on, she couldn’t ignore it. She tried to help. Her efforts were unsuccessful.

After Marian got home and showered, washing off the soot and grime from the street, she texted Carver.

_M: I hate Kirkwall._

_C: What happened?_

_M: Riots again. Three more dead. A kid this time._

_C: Shit. Maybe you should leave._

_M: Maybe._

_C: If you need me let me know. You know I’ll come._

_M: Thanks, Carver._

The next day, Nate texted another picture. This one was of a giant apple tree.

_N: Back in the Marches._

_M: Welcome home._

_N: Thanks. I hate boats._

_M: Ships._

_N: Those too._

_M: Successful trip?_

_N: Yeah. Good one._

_M: Good._

_N: I heard there’s been more trouble._

_M: There has._

_N: They showed you making a speech._

_M: That was before the rioting started._

_N: The news said you were trying to calm people down._

_N: You looked good up there._

_M: Careful. Too much time on a boat can mess with your head._

_N: Ship._

_M: That too._

_N: Are you okay?_

_M: I didn’t get hurt._

_N: Not what I meant._

_M: I’ll be okay._


	6. Last Straw

It was one of those rare, clear nights in Kirkwall. No wind, no fog, no rain. Marian was getting ready to go to bed when she realized a clear sky meant stars. Aside from her walk to and from the orphanage, Marian hadn’t been outside all day. She pulled her jeans and sweater back on, jammed her feet into her boots, grabbed her leather jacket, and headed outside. Pausing just in front of her door she looked up at the faint pinpricks of light scattered across the night sky. Like most things it Kirkwall, even the stars seemed sad and broken. They were nothing like the bright clusters she remembered from Ferelden, and if Isabela was to be believed, Ferelden’s stars were dim compared to what could be seen from a ship in the middle of the Amaranthine sea.

Marian dug her hands into the pockets of her jacket and looked around the empty street. Not for the first time, she silently wished for an excuse to leave Kirkwall. Maybe she should just ask Isabela to take her on a trip somewhere. Surely the pirate wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to travel, especially on someone else’s sovereign.

She was dawdling just outside the Hanged Man still looking up at the sky when she saw the flash of red and felt the ground shudder. Marian knew she should have run home, but her feet took her in the direction of the Gallows, knowing that’s where they’d be expecting the Champion to be.

The Gallows courtyard was full of people. Templars. Gifted. City Guards. Panicked Kirkwallers from all quarters. As Marian scanned the crowd, she saw flashes of familiar faces—Sebastian, Cullen, the boy from the flower stand, the hostess from the Blooming Rose. As soon as the crowd saw the Champion, they shoved her to the front where Orsino and Meredith were shouting at each other. The Chantry was destroyed. Hundreds, at least, were dead. Orsino blamed Meredith and the Templars. Meredith blamed Orsino and the Gifted. And Marian heard the voices behind her, demanding the Champion step in and solve it.

She looked helplessly from Meredith to Orsino and back, wishing one of them would realize she was just a bloody artist. But no one did. So she tried talking to them. At the very least to get them to realize that their shouting at each other was only going to make things worse. Her pleas were interrupted by screams and shattering glass. When Meredith and Orsino both ran for safety, Marian turned back to the crowd, but things devolved so quickly, it was all she could do to get out of the Gallows before people starting lighting things on fire.

Marian called Carver. She barely got a word out before he said he was on his way.

She ran back to Lowtown, knowing the City Guard would focus on Hightown first. She didn’t know how long she spent wading through the streets, trying to keep people calm, organized, safe.

And when she heard the cracks of smaller explosions and angry shouts echoing off the walls around her, she tried to focus on just getting people out of the path of the mob. As clusters of rioters crashed through the streets, she was no longer the Champion. She was simply another body in the way.

Marian was just reaching out for a small girl when she got thrust to the side, the group descending on them faster than she realized they would. She huddled against the wall and waited for them to pass before looking for the girl again.

Her eyes were burning from the smoke and ash, and her stomach was in knots as chaos swirled around her.

It felt like minutes. Or maybe days.

She almost didn’t notice Carver until his arms were around her, trying to help her up.

“Come on, Annie. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“But I have to _try_. I have to...” She tried to shove his arms away, her eyes focused on the little girl lying motionless in the street.

“No, Annie.” He held her tightly and spoke in her ear. “Please. Just come with me.”

“But I’m the _Champion_ ,” she sobbed, whatever had kept her steady that long finally breaking.

“I know.”

And when he pulled her this time, she came without a struggle.

He dragged her away and put her into the back of a black SUV. She pulled her thighs up against her chest and laid her head against her knees. She was vaguely aware that she wasn’t wearing her jacket anymore, which meant she’d also lost her phone and her keys. But she knew these were small things compared to losing an entire city. Her mind drifted, thoughts blurring underneath her tears, and she tried to focus instead on the sound of road speeding underneath her.

When she noticed the car stop moving and the door open, she was stiff and sore. She leaned heavily against Carver as he walked her across a quiet parking garage, through a set of double doors, and into an elevator. She kept her eyes on her feet the whole time. Carver said nothing, but he didn’t take his arm from around her waist until after he’d led her down a winding hallway and into a brightly lit room.

She looked up when she heard the television, catching the reporter’s hurried voice, hearing “explosion” and “fires” and “bodies.” And she saw Nate standing in front of the television, arms folded across his chest, watching the images of Kirkwall burning.

She blinked at him when she realized he was wearing sweatpants and a thin t-shirt. Then she looked around the room and took in the bookshelves lined with books, the Denerim Buccaneers pennant hanging above the television, the stuffed griffon she’d given Carver when he was prompted from Warden Recruit to full Warden. His apartment.

Nate turned when he heard the door click shut behind her and her brother.

“I got your text, Carv— _Marian_? What in the Void is going on?”

“Someone blew up the Chantry,” Carver said as he eased Marian into a chair and knelt in front of her. She met her brother’s gaze and saw the deep crease between his eyebrows and the grim line of his mouth.

He was worried. She didn’t like seeing her baby brother worried. She needed to pull herself together, to be strong for him. So she forced a smile and said, “You brought me home.”

“I did,” he nodded. But he didn’t smile back. “Can I leave you here for just a minute? I’m going to make a quick phone call. Okay?”

“Of course. I’m fine, Carver.”

He frowned at her, and she couldn’t keep her smile in place.

“Maker, Carver…what did I…it all went so _wrong_.” And her vision blurred as the tears returned. Carver simply leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

“I know, Annie. But you’re okay now. It’s going to be fine.”

She wanted nothing more than to stay there, in the safety of Carver’s steady arms, forever. But she couldn’t block out the reporter’s voice.

“… _absolute chaos here in Kirkwall. The death toll is estimated to be in the hundreds, but we won’t know for sure…”_

Marian pulled away from Carver, rubbing her hands over her face. She couldn’t bring herself to actually look at the television, so she just closed her eyes and listened.

_“…guard have been trying to regain control of Hightown, but the looters have armed themselves…”_

“It’s gotten worse,” Carver said.

_“…Cleric is presumed to have been killed in the initial explosion, and witnesses are reporting the deaths of both First Enchanter Orsino and Knight-Commander Meredith…”_

“Maker’s breath,” Nate exhaled.

_“…was seen trying to help the injured but reportedly was taken away in a dark car. Many are wondering if the Champion was somehow involved…”_

“Shit,” Carver spat.

Marian finally opened her eyes to look at Carver again. The deep lines of concern on his face had been replaced by sharp angles of a snarl.

“I wasn’t,” she whispered. “I tried to stop it…” She felt the tears flood back and closed her eyes again.

“I know,” Carver sighed, pulling her back to his chest for a moment.

She heard him whisper over her head to Nate, some names she didn’t recognize and one she did. Cousland. She pulled back from him again.

“I’m sorry, Carver. I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. I can go…somewhere. Maybe Is or Varric…” She nearly choked on their names as she realized that they were still in the middle of that mess and pressed her hands to her mouth.

“I’m sure they’re fine, but we’ll try to track them down. I’ve got to talk to my boss about this first, okay?” He looked over his shoulder. “Nate?”

Carver gave her another quick hug and then stood up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Annie.”

She watched him walk out of the room as Nate moved to kneel where Carver had just been.

The first thing she noticed was a bandage on his face, just below his left eye, and deep, dark bruises along his cheek and jaw.

“Maker…what happened to you?” She reached out and brushed her fingers lightly against his cheek, next to the bandage. He flinched slightly at the contact, and she jerked her hand away. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled and looked down at her hands.

“It’s fine. It’s just…tender still. Marian…what…are _you_ okay?”

He reached out then, taking her chin in his hand and gently lifting her face back to him.

Instead of answering, she asked, “Did I get Carver in trouble?”

“No,” he said firmly, dropping his hand. “We’ve been monitoring the situation in Kirkwall for a while now. Cousland, our boss, he knows. I think he and Carver were already working on some plan to get you out, but this...”

When his voice trailed off, she closed her eyes again and exhaled slowly. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Marian?”

“Hmm…?” She opened her eyes and looked at Nate again. She might have dozed off for a moment when she’d closed her eyes. His eyes were still full of sorrow, but his frown had softened slightly.

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in the car coming here, but I’m not really sure.” She paused, realizing she didn’t even know what time it was. Then she looked closely at the bandage and bruises again. “You look like shit, Nate.”

“Noted,” he said, one corner of his mouth curving up the tiniest bit.

She turned her head when she heard Carver repeat “yes, ser” a couple of times as he walked back into the room. When he hung up the phone he met her gaze.

“My boss wants to meet with you. But for right now, you’re staying here.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed heavily before looking over at her again. “You should try to get some sleep. You can have my bed. We’ll figure the rest out later.”

Marian nodded slowly and let Carver lead her partway down a hall and into his room. He pulled a t-shirt and pair of gym shorts from a drawer and handed them to her. She half listened as he rattled of locations of the bathroom and glasses for water and something else about being in the living room. She just nodded and, when he was done, repeated that she’d be fine.

Exhausted and numb, she changed and curled up under the blankets that smelled like Carver and fell asleep immediately.


	7. Cousland

Marian was huddled against a wall, smoke filling her lungs and blurring her vision. There was a girl, a child, curled in the street, bleeding and still. And every time Marian reached for her, she got shoved back against the wall. She could hear the voices taunting her, chanting for the Champion to help, but she couldn’t get close enough.

Marian woke abruptly, heart racing, throat dry, and tears streaming down her cheeks. She tried to sit up but was tangled in sheets, in a bed that was not hers, in a room that was not familiar. Panic mounting, she yanked the blankets back and stumbled out of bed. It wasn’t until she was on her feet that she remembered where she was. She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands over her face, wiping the remnants of the nightmare from her cheeks.

After taking a few minutes to compose herself, Marian wandered into the living room. Based on the bright sunshine filling the room, she guessed it was midmorning, though she didn’t feel like she’d slept much. Carver was standing by the windows, talking on the phone. Nate was sitting at the kitchen island with a laptop. He looked up when she walked in.

“Hey,” he said softly, offering a small smile. “Did you sleep okay?”

Marian shrugged and tried to return the smile.

Nate glanced over at Carver, so engrossed in his phone conversation that he hadn’t noticed Marian was awake.

“He’s talking to Cousland,” Nate explained then nodded his head in the direction of the hallway. “There are clean towels in the bathroom, if you want to shower. And there’s fresh coffee in the coffee pot.”

Marian opted for a shower first, hoping that washing off the layers of dirt and sweat would help get Kirkwall out of her system. But all she had to wear was the same jeans and sweater she’d had on the night before, both streaked with soot and grime. She stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was wet and limp, her eyes were underscored with dark circles, and her cheek and neck were covered in scrapes and scratches. She couldn’t even remember where those had come from. And she had told Nate that _he_ looked like shit. She shook her head at her reflection walked out into the living room where Carver proceeded to awkwardly fuss over her, forcing her to eat a piece of toast and drink some coffee before going to meet his boss.

She fidgeted as they drove to the Grey Warden’s headquarters in on edge of the city, working at a small hole in the sleeve of her sweater, making it big enough to stick her thumb through by the time they arrived. She quietly followed her brother and Nate through the parking garage and into the elevator. No one spoke as they walked through the bustling office, Marian trying to avoid eye contact with any of the men and women in dark suits that they passed. Carver gestured to a conference room door, leaving her and Nate while he went to let his boss know they were there.

She sat in one of the chairs and watched as Nate did the same. She was more than a little grateful to have a friendly face with her, a friend even. The shower had done little to wash away the sense of unease coursing through her.

Nate smiled at her, breaking the silence. “Everything’s going to be fine, Marian.”

“I don’t want to cause problems for Carver,” she replied.

He shook his head. “You won’t.”

She took a steadying breath, trying to swallow down her anxiety and put on what Isabela always called her “Champion face” as Carver came into the room carrying two cups of coffee. He set one cup down in front of Marian and passed the other to Nate, but Marian’s eyes were on the barrel-chested man behind her brother. Dark blonde hair, cropped close, bright green eyes, and a dark scar splitting his left cheek from just under his eye to his earlobe.

“Annie,” Carver said, stepping aside, “This is Warden-Commander Aedan Cousland. Commander, my sister, Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Not anymore,” she scoffed, but she stood to shake the hand of her brother’s very intimidating boss. “Well met, Commander Cousland.”

“And you, Lady Hawke. I’m sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” He gestured back to the chair and moved to sit in one next to her. Carver joined Nate on the other side of the table. “Carver says you were unhurt?”

“Just some scrapes and bruises, ser.”

“Good,” he nodded. “First things first then. Officially, you’ve been brought in by the Wardens and put under protective custody while we investigate the dissent and civil unrest in Kirkwall.” She started to protest and noted the matching scowls on both Carver’s and Nate’s faces, but Cousland held up both hands and kept talking. “Unofficially, we’re letting one of our best Wardens take care of his sister for a little while, keeping her out of the Chantry’s claws, and deciding where to go from there when the smoke settles…ah. Bad pun not intended.”

“Oh.” She stared wide-eyed at the man sitting next to her. “Thank you, Commander. It is appreciated.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he sighed. “I can’t promise how long we’ll be able to hold off the Chantry. We’re technically outside their jurisdiction, but…” he shrugged. “This situation is kind of unprecedented. But I take family seriously. We won’t announce that we have you. Although it sounds like the media has already figured out that you fled the city, and I’m afraid the Wardens won’t be able to protect you forever.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “I just need a change of clothes and a decent meal, and I’ll be out of your hair.” She sounded more confident than she was. Her eyes darted to Carver’s glare then Nate’s frown before she looked back at the Commander—who was grinning.

“So stubbornness and a general disregard for one’s own well-being runs in the family?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

She matched his grin. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Commander. No Hawke has ever been accused of being stubborn.” She glanced over at Carver again and added. “Or reckless.” Carver shook his head and bit back a smile.

“Right,” the commander drawled. “For now, Howe is assigned to you.”

She raised an eyebrow at this, to which the commander responded with an exaggerated shrug. “The fact that his roommate is your brother is purely coincidental.” He turned to Carver and Nate and said, “You two have some paperwork to take care of. Send Stroud in on your way out? We’ll make this as quick as possible.”

The rest of the morning was a blur. Marian spent the entire time in that conference room with Cousland and Stroud—a man who was more mustache than anything else. She gave her recounting of the events leading up to the bombing and the events immediately after, keeping her voice calm and her face as impassive as possible. Neither man seemed overly surprised at her ability to recall specific details about who said what and when things took place.

At lunchtime, Carver brought her a sandwich and ate with her while Cousland and Stroud met privately. Carver reassured her that they were just matching her timeline of events with other reports they’d collected. He also brought news from Isabela and Varric, both of whom were fine and laying low—most likely in the back room of the Hanged Man. He left again when Cousland and Stroud came back with more questions about specific people. She recognized a handful of the names, and she wondered if they were already narrowing in on a list of suspects.

It was late afternoon when they finally finished with their questions. Stroud left without saying anything to her, but Cousland walked her to the front lobby and thanked her for her time, promising that they would give her a chance to rest and recover before bothering her again.

When he shook her hand, he looked her in the eye and said, “I meant what I said—that I take family seriously. You’ll _be_ taken care of.”

He nodded briefly at Carver and Nate before walking briskly back towards his office. She watched him walk away, a little bewildered at the intensity of his last statement, before turning to her brother.

Carver smiled at her. “Now that that’s done, Nate’s going to take you back home. I’ll go run some errands and get you some things. Clean clothes and stuff. And I’ll meet you back there in a bit. Is there anything specific you want? Things you need?”

“I can shop for myself, can’t I?” She frowned at him.

“Oh. Uh, no.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re supposed to, uh…keep you out of sight for a little while. But don’t worry, I’m taking Sigrun. She’ll pick things out and take care of, you know, girl stuff.” He pulled her into a hug and added, “It’ll be fine, Annie. I promise.”

She whispered her thanks in his ear and followed Nate down the hall to the elevators.

Once they arrived back at the apartment, she pulled off her boots and curled herself up on the corner of the couch. Nate rummaged around in the kitchen for a minute before crossing the room to her and held out an open bottle of beer. She smiled up at him and gratefully took the offered bottle.

“Tell me about your nephew,” she requested as he sat on the other end of the couch.

“My nephew?” He arched an eyebrow.

“Or the wallop season. Or your boss. Or something other than Kirkwall or the Chantry.”

He nodded then, understanding what she meant, and started talking about his nephew, who was apparently learning to play the guitar.

It didn’t take long for her to drift off. When she woke, jolted out of her sleep by a dream, Nate was still sitting next to her, feet propped up on the coffee table next to her nearly untouched beer. He looked over from the book he was reading and gave her a lopsided grin.

“Hi.”

“Andraste’s ass. I’m sorry, Nate.” She sat up quickly, embarrassment burning her cheeks.

“It’s fine,” he chuckled. “You only slept for a few hours this morning, and I’m guessing you didn’t sleep soundly. Carver texted. He should be—”

He was interrupted by the front door opening and Carver marching in with a handful of shopping bags.

“Maker’s balls, I’m never going shopping with that woman again,” he grumbled as he dropped all but one of bags on the floor. He held out the other one with a grin. “I got Rivaini take-away though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay in updating. I had one of those big, tragic, life-alerting events and...well. Anyway. Back on it. I think. I hope.


	8. Talking

After a lengthy argument, Marian finally convinced Carver to let her sleep on the couch instead of taking his bed. The couch was quite comfortable, and she’d initially fallen asleep quickly. But after only a few hours of sleep she woke with a start, trembling and sweating. She sat up, trying to calm her breathing, trying to slow her heart beat.

After a few minutes, she walked over to the large windows and wrapped her arms around herself. Carver and Nate had a nice apartment, a corner unit with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side and a view of the park and market square just a few blocks away. But even as she stared out at the glittering lights below, her mind kept flashing to the explosion, the bodies and the rubble, the screaming mobs. She kept picturing the faces of the children from the orphanage, the guards in Hightown, her friends in Lowtown. She didn’t know how long she been standing there when she heard a squeak of a cabinet.

Nate was in the kitchen.

“You don’t have to fumble around in the dark. I’m awake,” she said quietly when she spotted him.

“Sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, I’ve been up for a bit.” When he turned the tap on to fill his glass with water, she added with a small laugh, “Seriously, Nate. You can turn on the light.”

He reached for a switch then, turning on a set of dim lights over the kitchen island.

He looked over at her from the kitchen and frowned. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, made her way back to the couch, and started straightening the blankets she had tangled up during her dream. She spoke quietly as she worked. “I think so. I just…bad dreams. And now I can’t…I can’t get the images out of my head.” She shook her head then, dropping the blankets, and looked back over at him. “You never told me what you did to your face.”

He let out a huff of air, almost a laugh. “No, I didn’t.”

“Warden secrets,” she shook her head and pulled the last corner of the blankets straight. “I know, I know. Don’t bother asking.” She sat on the couch with a sigh, rested her elbows on her knees, and twisted her fingers together. Nate walked over and sat on the coffee table facing her. She stared at the tiny space between her knee and his.

“I got hit in the face by a very large, very drunk Antivan.”

Marian looked up at him, her eyebrows raised. “That’s it? That’s the secret?”

“That’s it,” he shrugged.

“What a letdown,” she scoffed. “I was hoping for an underground cult of nug worshipers. Or maybe a dragon in the Vimmarks.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Marian.” He gave her a wry grin.

She returned the grin and asked, “Did you hit him back?”

“I did.”

“Did you win?”

He snorted then said, “He is no longer going to be smuggling lyrium and small children, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah,” she said, the mirth draining out of her when she realized the reality of the situation. She bowed her head and added quietly, “Yes, that’s what I meant.”

After a long stretch of silence, he nudged her knee with his, drawing her attention back to him, and asked, “Do you want to talk about it? What happened? I don’t mean what you told Cousland. I mean what you actually saw.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“You sure?” He asked. “It helps. Sometimes.”

“I think all it will do is turn me into weepy mess. I won’t do that to you.”

“I don’t mind. If it helps.”

She opened her eyes again and looked up at him. In the dim light from the kitchen, she couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“Have they started releasing names yet? Of who died?” When he shook his head, she continued, “When Carver found me, I was trying to save this girl. She was young. Twelve, maybe? She’d been trampled, I think. And I couldn’t get her out of the street. I couldn’t move her. I’m not sure if she was even alive.”

She felt the tears coming again, burning at the back of her eyes, but Nate reached a hand out and wrapped it around both of hers, saying nothing and letting her talk. She recounted the way the ash swirled through the sky like snowflakes, how once familiar faces were distorted with fear or hatred or pain, and how much she hated her ability to remember details at times like this.

When she stopped talking, Nate gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Marian.”

She studied their hands for a moment, noting how tiny hers looked compared to his, and shook her head. “I wish I had been able to stop them. I should have—”

“Stop.” He interrupted her, tilting his head down to force her to look him in the eye. “You can’t blame yourself for this anymore than I can blame myself for the lives lost before I found that Antivan smuggler.”

She sighed and nodded slowly. Knowing that was right and believing it were two different things.

“You should try to sleep,” he said, finally releasing her hands. “If you have trouble, you can come and wake me up, and we can talk about whatever you want.”

She did have trouble sleeping, waking a few more times from dreams. But she didn’t wake Nate up. She didn’t have the heart to. Finally, she noticed a small stretch of sunlight peeking through the blinds indicating a decent hour to actually be awake. She didn’t feel rested in the slightest, but she got up and dug through the bags of clothes Carver brought home. He and Sigrun had done a decent job—jeans, t-shirts, basic sundries, and everything seemed to be the right size. She pulled out a few things and headed for the shower.

After bathing, dressing, and checking herself in the mirror, she decided she looked just as tired but a little less bedraggled than the day before. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to remember the last time she’d cut it. Sebastian. She’d stopped cutting it after she broke up with Sebastian. Not on purpose, but there it was. The thought made her smile.

She walked down the hall towards the kitchen, considering sharing the observation with Carver and wondering if he’d see the significance, when she heard Nate and Carver talking. She found herself stopping before she was in sight and listening to them.

“…worried about her. Really worried. This…the last year has been…I just worry that she’ll keep it all bottled up like she usually does.”

“She talked to me last night.”

“She did?”

“A little bit, yeah. Told me some of what she saw. It sounded… _Maker_ , it sounded awful.”

She heard Carver sigh before saying, “I just hope she keeps talking. This is…I mean, I know she’s tough. She’s seen a lot of terrible things already, but…she hides it, you know? She was doing it yesterday, cracking jokes with Cousland? That’s not…it’s not real.”

“I think she does that because she worries about you,” Nate said. Carver snorted, but Nate kept talking, “She’s not used to her little brother taking care of her. It’s backwards, a bit. So she tries to be the strong one. I do the same thing with my sister.”

“Huh,” Carver grunted.

She didn’t wait for Carver to say anything else. She tucked the conversation into the back of her mind and walked the rest of the way into the kitchen, greeting them both with a smile.

For the next two days, Marian could almost convince herself she was on vacation. Almost. Reading, playing cards, watching wallop matches on television. Telling Nate childhood stories about Carver, hearing Nate tell stories about the Carver she was really only just getting to know, and listening to Carver grumble about all of it.

But there were moments where she would drift. A memory latching onto a more recent memory. A loose thread of conversation reminding her of what she’d left behind. She would find herself staring out the windows, her mind far away from the city of Ansburg on the other side of the glass. Carver would nudge her foot or call her name to draw her back to whatever was going on. And she'd mumble an apology and try to ignore the lines of worry around Carver’s eyes.

In those two days, she learned that when Cousland said Nate was “assigned” to her, that meant he had to stay with her at all times. And when Carver said she had to stay “out of sight,” that meant she couldn’t leave the apartment. She also learned that there was a car with a couple of other Wardens parked on the street, keeping an eye on the building. And that Carver had taken a couple of days off to stay with her but would have to go back to work eventually.

As time passed, she felt the weight of that conversation between Nate and Carver pressing down on her. But it wasn’t until the night before Carver went back to work that she found herself able to talk about something other than food or movies or wallop mallets.

“It’s going to be weird without you here,” she admitted as she stared down at the dark car parked on the street below.

“I’m not _leaving_ leaving,” Carver said. She could hear the frown in his voice.

“But with you here, I could pretend I was visiting.”

When Carver didn’t respond right away, she turned to look at him.

“You know I never really liked Kirkwall,” she said, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans and leaning her back against the window. She glanced behind Carver where Nate was sitting on the other side of the apartment with his laptop. Carver looked over her shoulder, following her gaze.

“You’re okay with being here with Nate, right?” He dropped his voice low.

Marian nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “Of course. It’s not that. I like Nate. I just…as much as I hated it there, I never really thought about leaving. Not seriously, anyway. And now I’m here, and I think…I think it’s going to feel more _real_ without you.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’ll help.”

Marian laughed. “Don’t start sounding smart, Carver. I’ve had enough life changing events for one year.”

“Shut it.” He scowled and tossed a pillow from the couch at her. She caught the pillow and lobbed it back at him, laughing a little harder.

When he threw it again, he followed it up with a second pillow. She ducked them both with a shout of protest before retrieving one from the floor and swinging it at his head. He caught it and tugged it out of her hands.

“You’re going to lose, Annie.”

“Is that a challenge, little brother?” She grinned and armed herself with the other pillow, waiting for his next move.

“How old are you two?”

Marian and Carver both turned to see Nate standing with his arms folded across his chest. They exchanged a quick glance at each other before simultaneously throwing both pillows at him.

“Oh, go soak your head,” Nate chuckled as he dodged them. “Both of you.”

It was the hardest Marian had laughed in months.


	9. Sketchbook

“Marian?”

She jerked her head up and looked toward the voice. Nate was standing at the entry to the kitchen, confusion stamped across his face. The kitchen clock read 5:18. She glanced down at herself. She’d fallen asleep at the counter, face on the cold tile, surrounded by sketches of demons and dark alleys and broken bodies. She rubbed at her cheek, hoping to smooth out any lines left by the tiles.

“Maker’s breath, Marian…you slept out here?” He walked towards her, but his eyes drifted towards the drawings. “What in Thedas…” He didn’t finish his question.

“Sorry.” She started trying to pile them up, pull them together. “I didn’t mean to leave a mess.” She let out a quiet snort and added, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here.”

He reached out and stopped her before she took away one of the last sketches. A faceless mob choking an alleyway, bricks and beams in hand.

“Is this…was this Kirkwall?” He asked, pulling another from her haphazard pile.

She nodded slowly, dropping her hands to her lap. “Eidetic memory is a shitty Gift.”

The next sketch he looked at showed a cobblestone square, crumpled bodies, smoldering debris, and a man in the middle, face twisted in agony.

“This is the First Enchanter.” His voice was quiet, nearly a whisper. “Are those…”

“Gifted students from the Gallows,” she finished for him.

Marian watched as Nate slowly spread the other sketches out. For several minutes, they were both silent, staring down at the grotesque collage in front of them. Marian’s eyes lingered on one picture of Sebastian, on his knees, face turned up to the sky. She could still hear him crying out when he realized that Grand Cleric Elthina was dead.

“I’m going to make some tea.” Marian nearly jumped, Nate’s voice surprising her. “Would you like some?”

She nodded and shuffled all of the pictures back into a pile while Nate put the kettle on.

“Does drawing help?” He asked, leaning against the counter, waiting for the water to boil.

“Not really,” she shrugged.

“What does?”

She smiled at him ruefully. “If I knew, I wouldn’t be having nightmares a week later.”

Nate frowned, and they fell silent again. Marian’s eyes drifted back to the pile of pictures. She could tell Nate was watching her. She could tell he was concerned. He was probably trying to think of something to say, some sort of advice or platitude that would make her feel better. Not that either would actually help. She straightened the pile again and looked back up at him.

“Do you think…do you think Cousland would want these?”

Nate glanced at the pile of pictures. “Eidetic memory means you…those are exactly what you saw? It can’t hurt to pass them on, I suppose.”

She nodded in response and pushed the pile away from her.

Nate pulled the kettle off just before it whistled, even though it wouldn’t wake Carver, and poured the water into two mugs. After dropping in bags of tea, earl grey for him and chamomile for her, he nodded in the direction of the living room.

“Come on,” he said and picked up both mugs.

She followed him and settled on the corner of the couch. He passed her tea to her and sat next to her, stretching his long legs out on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles.

“Why are you awake?” She asked.

One side of his mouth curled up. “I’m usually awake this early. Under normal circumstances, I’d be either running or in the gym about now.”

She shook her head. “That sounds like torture.”

“That’s what your brother says, too,” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry my being here is messing up your normal life.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nate raised his eyebrows. “I’m getting paid to hang out with a friend instead of getting shot at or buried in paperwork.”

Marian smiled but didn’t respond, instead sipping at her tea, her mind drifting back to the drawings. After a few minutes, Nate broke the silence.

“You said you were still having nightmares?” His voice was cautious, neutral, like he was being extra careful to not imply any sense of judgment. Marian nodded without looking at him.

“About Kirkwall?”

She looked up and watched his grey eyes search her face for a moment. Then, setting her tea on the coffee table with a sigh, she pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Those drawings,” she started quietly then shook her head. “That’s what I see every night. I close my eyes and...it’s like being there all over again.” She felt the tears building up behind her eyes and tried to blink them back, but they still fell when she finished her thought. “I watch my whole world crumble every night.”

“Come here,” he said, holding his arm out towards her and gesturing with his hand.

She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks, and replied, “I’m fine, Nate.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re not fine, Marian.”

“I _have_ to be fine.”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “You don’t. Not with me. You’ve been ‘fine’ all week. In a few hours, when Carver wakes up and wants to watch reruns of ‘The Stolen Throne’ again, you can be fine. But right now, with me, you don’t have to be fine.”

And with that, he shifted closer to her and put his arm around her. She nodded slowly, too tired to argue with him, and let him pull her closer. She rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and curled towards him, the tears returning in full force. He wrapped his other arm around her and whispered, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, Marian.”

As Marian pressed the palm of her hand against his chest, she told herself she could have a few minutes to cry but nothing more. She had to keep it together—for Carver if nothing else. But as she relaxed into the warmth of Nate’s embrace, her mind returned to the way she’d described her nightmares to Nate, and she made a faint connection in the back of her mind, a realization about the feeling of emptiness she hadn’t been able to shake off. It was only slightly different than what she’d felt when she’d left Sebastian. When her mother died. When Bethany died. When her father died. And even as she registered the words _loss_ and _grief_ in her mind, she felt her tears waning. She had a vague awareness of Nate’s heartbeat against her cheek, of the smell of earl grey tea, and of her own breathing, slowing and steadying.

The next thing she knew, the sun was peeking through the gaps in the blinds and she felt oddly rested.

She glanced up at Nate before slowly pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, smiling sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m glad you finally got some sleep, even if it was only an hour.”

The smile he gave her in return was not his usual crooked grin but a wide smile, full of warmth and framed with creases at the corners of his mouth. She felt a familiar surge of attraction, the same she’d felt the first night she’d met Nate. It took her a moment to tear her eyes away from that smile and excuse herself, heading for the shower with a quick glance at Carver’s closed bedroom door. She was glad she’d woken up before her brother.

When she returned to the living room, Nate and Carver were both standing at the kitchen island, frowning at Nate’s laptop.

“Bad news?” She asked, filling a mug with fresh coffee.

Carver glanced over at her, his frown fading slightly. “Hey. No…not bad news, really.”

Marian hoisted herself up to sit on the kitchen counter across from them. “Not bad news, really…?” She prompted.

“We were just reading through today’s reports about Kirkwall,” Nate said, his eyes still on the laptop.

She felt a twist in her gut, but she swallowed it back and asked, “What’s going on there?”

Nate and Carver both looked up at her, but it was Carver who asked, “Do you really want to know?”

“I…don’t know,” she shrugged. “It was your idea that I avoid the news, but…” She shot a quick glance at Nate before finishing, “maybe if I know what’s going on now, I’ll stop thinking about that night.”

Before Carver could respond, Nate nodded, a faint smile on his lips, and started filling her in.

“They quelled the riots a few days ago, but things are still tense. There have been a few incidents. There was another car bomb early this morning.”

“Andraste’s ass…” She shook her head. “Where?”

“Outside the Alienage.” At seeing Marian’s scowl, Carver quickly added. “Nobody was hurt. Some kids reported the suspicious car to the guards before the bomb went off.”

“Bastards,” Marian spat. “The Alienage had _nothing_ to do with any of this.”

“There are a few different factions in the city now,” Nate explained. “One group, probably the ones behind this bomb, claims the Alienage has an unusually high percentage of Gifted children born.”

“It’s not true, of course,” Carver said. “It’s just an excuse for the racism and classism that already existed.”

“Let me guess.” Marian’s voice was bitter. “A group of Hightown elite and fanatical Templars, probably led by Ser Alrik or one of his lackeys?”

Nate and Carver both raised their eyebrows at her.

“Maker’s balls, Annie,” Carver laughed. “We’ve been trying to sort out the ringleader of that group all week. If Cousland’s in today, maybe I’ll ask him if he wants you to come back in.”

“I thought you were off today.” Marian frowned.

“I was,” he said. “Faren called in a favor.”

When Carver left for the office that day he took an envelope with him full of the drawings that Marian had done in the middle of the night. He had agreed with Nate that Cousland might find them useful. And when he returned that evening, he had two thick packages for Nate and a bag of food from an Antivan café.

“One’s from Cousland. The other is from Sigrun.” He handed the packages to Nate before turning to pull out dishes and silverware.

Nate quickly looked at both packages then passed one to Marian.

“This is actually for you. I thought it might be better than using our printer paper and a ballpoint pen,” he said with a small smirk before returning to the kitchen to help Carver unpack the take-away containers.

Marian peered into the heavy paper envelope. Inside, she found a sketchbook, spiral bound with a thick cardboard cover, and a set of charcoal pencils. She felt a flutter in her stomach at the thoughtfulness.

Nate was pulling beer out of the refrigerator when she looked back up at him.

“Nate.” She paused, waiting for him to look over at her before she said, “Thank you.”

He smiled broadly, the same smile he’d given her that morning, and nodded. Carver frowned, looking between the two. “What’d I miss?”

“He bought me a sketchbook,” Marian said, trying to sound nonchalant as she set the sketchbook on the coffee table. But she felt her cheeks burn as she said it. And Carver cast a sidelong glance at Nate and failed at biting back the smile that crept across his face.


	10. Escape

Carver had left for work for the day already. Nate was still in his room. Probably awake, but not out yet. Marian suspected he did this to give her some time to herself. But this morning, having time to herself was a terrible idea.

Carver had left his laptop up. And when Marian passed by it to get her morning coffee, the image filling the screen caught her attention. She couldn’t _not_ look at it.

She took in the familiar street corner in Lowtown, the dark shapes on the ground that could only be bodies, and the headline: _Lowtown Riots Rekindled: 7 dead, 13 injured._ And the mural on the wall in the background.

A faceless man in a uniform. A woman in a simple housedress. Between them, a crying child: a blonde boy, no more than six, held fast in the arms of the faceless man. Another little boy with an identical blonde mop of hair was hiding behind the woman. A second man in uniform was behind the first, aiming a rifle at the woman.

Beneath were three names and a date. _Saorise. Dermot. Stephen. 8 Haring 9:32._

It was one of the few murals Marian had painted in Kirkwall that was still intact, having gone ignored by the Viscount and the Chantry in the quiet street in Lowtown. Marian had known Saorise and her twins. She had known the boys were both Gifted. And she had wept as she painted their names on the wall.

Over the years, a dozen or so other names and dates had been added to the mural. Some of the names Marian had added herself. The more recent ones were added by friends of the children and family members killed by Templars.

There seemed to be more names in the picture than Marian remembered. But there were other additions to the mural as well.

Red lines of paint, slashing through the list of names, and a crude version of the Templar’s flaming sword all but covering Stephen.

In the span of a single breath, Marian felt her heart shatter. She dropped the empty mug that had been in her hand and backed away from the laptop. When her back hit the counter behind her, she folded her arms tight over her stomach and hunched over herself, as if that could stop the sudden, painful twisting she felt there.

“Marian, what’s wrong?”

Nate’s voice sounded anxious, but she couldn’t seem to let go of herself. She was still staring at the picture of the now defaced mural until Nate stepped between her and the laptop, breaking the trance.

“ _Bastards_ ,” she hissed.

She barely got the word out before Nate had his arms around her. She let out a choked sob, and pressed her face into his chest.

“I’m sorry, Marian.” He spoke softly into her hair. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

She clung to him as she cried, digging her fingers into his back as she choked out very bitter curse she could think of. Nate held her just as tightly and repeated quiet sympathies and reassurances.

It didn’t take long for her to run out of curses and Nate’s steady voice to calm her. As the knots in her stomach eased, she relaxed her grip on him, pressing her hands flat on his back and focusing on his heartbeat. Eventually, he loosened his arms and pulled back slightly, looking down at her.

“Better?” He asked.

She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” He shook his head. “It’s okay. It really is.”

She nodded in response before resting her forehead on his chest for another minute. Then she dropped her arms and pulled away, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk?” He asked as he took a step away, giving her some space.

She shook her head. Her thoughts were crowded, a swirl of confusing emotions. He must have seen it.

“Talk to me, Marian.” It was more of a plea than a demand.

She looked up at him. The bruises on his cheek had finally faded. The cut was just a faint line now, barely noticeable. But the furrow of his brow was deep, the concern in his eyes evident.

She took a deep breath and let the words tumble out.

“I painted that mural. I knew that family. The Templars claimed the boys had set up traps. They weren’t the first family to be killed during a routine ‘collection.’ But those boys, Dermot and Stephen…everyone loved those boys. Everyone loved Saorise. I painted that for the neighborhood to _heal_. We lit candles there every year. And…those _bastards_ destroyed it. I may have hated that Maker forsaken city, but it was still my _home_. And everything thing is gone. Everything I did there. I just…Andraste’s _ass_. I’ve been stuck here for _two weeks_ , and I just…I have _nothing_ left. I feel lost, and I don’t know what to do with that. I _hate_ feeling lost.”

He waited, like he was making sure she was actually done talking before he spoke. And when he did, his voice was quiet.

“We have to do training, when we start out as recruits, on how to handle trauma. It’s not a very consistent thing. It hits everyone differently. One of my first big assignments, we lost one of our team. And for weeks, I had these mood swings, angry rages. I blamed myself, but I tried to take it out on everyone else. My partner at the time was drunk more often than he was sober.” He frowned at the memory and shook his head before continuing, “All I’m saying is that it’s normal. What you’re feeling is normal. You don’t have to _do_ anything with the feelings. You just sort of…accept them. Call them what they are, let yourself have them, and focus on the other stuff. Focus on being _here_.”

She tilted her head to one side as he spoke, soaking in every word. It was the most she’d ever heard him say all at once, and it wasn’t empty platitudes but something that made sense. Like he understood.

“You sound awfully smart,” she said finally. When he frowned, she quickly added, “That was a joke. I mean, it’s true, but I was being…sorry,” she sighed, frustrated. “Defense mechanism for my general inability to handle serious conversations involving my emotions. I am emotionally stunted. I think have a sibling and at least one ex who will agree.”

He raised an eyebrow at her babbling. The corners of his mouth twitched ever so slightly.

“Sorry. I…shit.” She let out a small laugh and shook her head. “Making jokes about my need to make jokes. I really need to work on that talking thing.”

“Well, you did already start.”

“What?”

“The talking thing. You started talking…why don’t try to keep going?”

“Oh.” She blinked, watching him watch her. His eyes had the faintest hint of amusement in them. “You mean just spill my guts about everything going on in my head?”

“Maybe not everything,” he chuckled. “But something.”

She knelt to pick up the mug she had dropped, grateful it hadn’t broken. She paused in her crouch and thought for a moment, considering the empty mug in her hand. And then, with a sigh, she let herself sink the rest of the way to the floor, leaning against the cabinets and resting her elbows on her knees. Nate joined her on the floor without a word.

“I’m tired,” she admitted. “And I’m heartbroken about that mural getting destroyed. And I’m angry that they haven’t found the bomber yet. I’m angry that everyone there is still fighting. I’m frightened that the Chantry will send Seekers after me. And I’m tired. I miss my bed. I miss my friends and my stuff, and I’m bloody _exhausted_.” She paused, taking a deep breath and blinking back the hot, angry tears that threatened as she spoke. Then, dropping her head, she quietly added, “And I feel guilty that I’m not there to help. I feel guilty for hiding.”

“What do you think you would do if you were there?”

“I don’t know…” She stared down at the empty mug, turning it in her hands. “I know there’s not much I can do. There never has been, but everyone asked me to help anyway, expected me to help. And I always tried, at least. It feels strange to not try but…” She shook her head and looked back up at him. “I can’t take care of everyone in Kirkwall. I never could. And it’s my job, is it? It’s not my responsibility to fix everything.”

Nate smiled. “No, it’s not.”

Marian returned his smile. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Making me say that out loud. That it’s not my responsibility.” She shook her head again, knowing his grin meant yes, and asked, “Was that enough sharing for now?”

“Yes. That’s enough,” he chuckled and, in one effortless movement, stood and held his hand out to her. And as he helped her up, he said, “I have an idea.”

“Oh?”

“If you swear you won’t tell Carver, I’ll take you out to breakfast and to the park for a little while. But you’ll need a hat. And we’ll have to go out the fire exit, so the patrol out front doesn’t see us.”

Once she’d found one of Carver’s Denerim Buccaneers hats and pulled it low to hide her face, Nate took her to a diner for omelets and hash browns, then on a short walk through the outdoor market, and finally to a bench at the edge of the park.

“Maker, this is fantastic,” Marian sighed. She pulled the hat off and turned her face to the sun, closing her eyes and relishing the warmth on her face.

Nate chuckled and draped his arm across the back of the bench.

“I’d make some joke about you needing to get out more, but you really _do_ need to get out more.”

“Yes. I do.” She laughed and looked out across the grass. She watched a young, dark-haired woman playing with a little blonde boy, both of them spinning, arms wide. An elderly man tossing a ball to a mabari. Students from the nearby university standing in line at the coffee cart on the corner.

“When mother died,” she said softly, “Sebastian gave me this little book of quotes…you know, one of those ones with quotes from famous people that are supposed to make you feel better? It was…thoughtful, I guess. Most of them didn’t mean anything to me. But I remember one…from a Dalish poet, I think, saying something about keeping your face towards the sunshine and your shadows will fall behind you. I usually think they’re silly, those cliché inspirational things, but right now I think whoever said it was genius. This, right here, right now, in the sunshine…Maker,” she sighed. “Right now I feel like everything is _right_ —or, at least, is going to be. I think this is my favorite place ever.”

She leaned her head against Nate and closed her eyes again. He dropped his arm from the bench to her shoulder. Just as Marian was drifting off to sleep, she thought she heard Nate whisper, “Mine, too.” But she might have already been dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I made Walt Whitman a Dalish poet. Don't ask. It made sense at the time. Also, the whole mural thing was inspired by the murals painted around Belfast during the Troubles. I saw a little bit of a parallel between the mage-Templar situation and the situation in Northern Ireland. I don't mean to imply it's perfect comparison, but I did borrow a few ideas from events there, and I thought it was worth pointing out. Credit where credit's due.


	11. Sunburn

When Marian glanced over at Nate from her spot on the couch, he was standing in the kitchen, glass of water in one hand, phone in the other, and a deep frown on his face.

“Everything okay?”

He jerked his head up, clearly startled at her voice.

“What? Yeah…ah, an old friend…” He sighed and tucked the phone in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

She frowned to herself. That was an oddly inarticulate response from Nate. She considered asking again but reminded herself that it wasn’t really her business.

She’d been reminding herself of that for two weeks—ever since the trip to the park and the argument that followed.

She turned back to the sketchbook open in front of her, but she could feel his eyes on her. When she looked up again, he was watching her intently. His frown was gone, but there was something else in his expression that she couldn’t quite read.

“Marian…how are you doing? It seems like we haven’t…talked much in a while.”

“Oh, I’m fine.” She grinned, sounding much more cheerful than she felt. “Sounds like you’ve got other stuff going on anyway.”

“That’s not…you don’t…” He paused then continued with resignation in his voice. “Okay. If you change your mind, well…I’m around. You know.”

From the corner of her eye, she watched him sit down on the other end of the couch with the book he’d been reading. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before turning her attention back to the caricature of Carver she’d been working on.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Nate didn’t normally stumble with his words. If there was one thing knew about him, it was that when he was unsure about what to say or how to say it, he just kept his thoughts to himself.

But something had shifted that day Nate took her to the park. Something shifted after the argument that followed.

Marian and Nate had returned from the park hours before Carver got home from the office. They had been standing in the kitchen discussing take-away options for dinner when Carver stopped mid-sentence and frowned.

_“Annie, why is your nose red?”_

_“My nose is red?” She looked to Nate for confirmation and drew her brows together when he nodded slowly. “Why is my nose red?” She rubbed her nose with her hand, thinking maybe there was something on it, and immediately recognized the stinging she felt as her rubbing pulled at the skin of her nose. “Shit,” she whispered and turned back to Nate, eyes wide, hand covering her nose._

_“Did you…” Carver walked over to her, eyes fixed on her hand. He pulled it away from her nose and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got a_ sunburn _.”_

_“Carver…” she started, but Carver turned away from her sharply and pointed to Nate._

_“Which means_ you _took her somewhere. Cousland said to keep her out of sight. But you took her somewhere.”_

_Nate just nodded and calmly replied, “We went to the park.”_

_Marian watched Carver’s jaw tense, the blood rising in his cheeks. She knew the storm that was coming._

_“Carver, don’t.” But he wasn’t listening to her, his rage turned fully to Nate._

_“You took her out. Against orders. You’ve read the reports. You know what’s going on. You know the Chantry is looking for her. And you took her out. You_ snuck _her out.”_

_“I did,” Nate said. His voice was even, though Marian could see his shoulders tense as he faced her brother. “And yes, I am aware of what is happening in Kirkwall. I am also aware that there are reports that the Champion has been spotted in Jader.”_

_“I don’t give a damn what the blighted rumors say. That’s my_ sister _.” Carver’s fists were clenched at his side, his eyes locked on Nate’s._

_“Carver.” Marian tried again to get his attention._

_“I know who she is. And I know how to do my job.” Nate’s voice was still composed, but Marian saw a muscle in his neck twitch._

_“Your_ job _? Your_ job _is to keep her safe. Your job is_ not _take her to the bloody park.”_

 _Nate finally reacted to the anger radiating off of Carver and raised his voice. “We_ were _safe. I wouldn’t have taken her out if we weren’t. You_ know _that.”_

_“Nate, stop,” she said firmly._

_“I don’t know any—”_

_When Carver took a step towards Nate, Marian raised her voice to match theirs._

_“Andraste’s fat ass, will you two stop!”_

_Both men spun towards her. Nate’s eyes were wide with surprise. And while Carver’s face was still red, his mouth was clamped shut._

_“Carver Malcolm Hawke you will not talk about me as though I am not here, and you will not fight with your friend over my well-being.” She watched as he shot a sidelong glance at Nate and deflated the tiniest bit. Then she turned to Nate._

_“And you, Nathaniel Howe, will not disobey orders again in some stupid attempt to cheer me up—regardless of what happened this morning. I will not have_ either _of you risking your friendship or your jobs over me.”_

_Nate opened his mouth to say something, but when Marian arched an eyebrow at him, he snapped it shut. And bowed his head in acquiescence. She looked back at Carver who, instead of nodding, blurted, “What happened this morning?”_

_“Nothing,” Marian sighed. “It was nothing.”_

_“Bullshit,” Nate said. She jerked her head back to him, but he had already turned back to Carver to explain._

_“She had a total breakdown after you left.”_

_“She did?” Carver’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet._

_“She’s not sleeping, she can’t contact her friends, and she’s been trapped in this apartment for two weeks. She needed something normal.”_

_Marian watched Carver nod in understanding then turn to her. And in that moment, he looked every bit like her baby brother who was once afraid of the dark._

_“I’m fine, Carver. I promise.”_

That argument lingered with her. _I know who she is. And I know how to do my job._

She had forgotten that she was Nate’s job. She had come to Ansburg already thinking of Nate a friend, and she let herself get caught up in his kindness and his concern for her well-being—as well as the small signs of affection he so easily showed her. And it hurt, just a little, to be reminded that he was taking care of her because he had been commanded to. If she was honest with herself, she knew it hurt more than a little.

In the two weeks since that argument, she’d tried to make herself as small as possible. If there was one thing Marian Hawke was good at, it was hiding. She didn’t always do it. She definitely hadn’t been doing it with Nate. Or Carver, really. But that argument and those words made her realize that by not keeping quiet, she had become a burden. And the last thing she wanted was to cause any more trouble for Carver and Nate than she already had. She’d invaded their home and disrupted their routines. She was, essentially, in the way. So she kept quiet, kept her distance, and, whenever her mind drifted to a memory of sleeping curled up against Nate or of Nate’s hand wrapped around hers, she pushed those thoughts aside and tucked them away.

 _I know who she is. And I know how to do my job._ Apparently, Nate was quite good at his job.

Marian glanced back over at him. If he had noticed a shift in her behavior, he hadn’t said a word.

But now, today, something felt off. He was often quiet, but his silence now seemed off balance somehow. It bothered her. But it wasn’t her business. It wasn’t _her_ job.

With a sigh, she shook off that bitter thought and turned back to her sketchbook and the drawing of Carver. Doodles and caricatures and comic panels had been her peace offering to her little brother. It was one of the ways she’d learned to hide her Gift when she was younger, one of the things her father had encouraged her to do. If she exaggerated the angle of the jaw, the hook of the nose, the twinkle in the eye, people wouldn’t realize how much she actually saw. She still drew Kirkwall, but she was careful to keep those drawings to herself. What she shared, what she worked on when Carver was around, were silly or quirky or anything other than dark. It was something she could do that would make him believe she was fine.

As she added a dimple to Carver’s chin, she grinned to herself. He hated when she drew him with the chin dimple. She looked up from her drawing when Carver swung the front door open and greeted her.

“I’ve got a present for you.”

“Really, Carver?” She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a six year old who needs presents to keep me happy.”

“And thank the Maker for that!” Isabela chuckled as she pushed past Carver, a cardboard box in hand.

“ _Is_?” Marian’s eye widened, and she stood abruptly. Isabela shoved the box into Carver’s arms and met Marian in the middle of the room in an embrace.

When Marian let out a sob and buried her face in her friend’s hair, Isabela squeezed her tighter. “Oh, kitten. I’m so sorry.”

Carver set the box down and stood next to Nate, who had slipped into the kitchen when Carver walked in. They both seemed a little caught off guard by her sudden emotion, but Marian didn’t care. It meant her efforts over the past two weeks had worked. And it was _Isabela_ , who Marian never hid from. Isabela finally pulled back from Marian, wiping away a few of her own stray tears, and smiled brightly at her.

“Now, why don’t we look through this box of treasures and send those boys out for food, hmm?”

In the box, Marian found two old photo albums, a small, carved wood box with the few pieces of real jewelry she owned, a stack of letters, tied together with a red ribbon, and a handful of old flashdrives, ones she recognized were full of snapshots of her murals and portraits and commission jobs, in progress, before and after shots, all of her work in Kirkwall in pixelated history. There were a couple of old books with worn covers and dog-eared pages. And, at the bottom, a jacket. A navy blue blazer with copper buttons stamped with crossed axes. It had been her father’s, the one thing she’d stubbornly refused to give up when they moved from Ferelden. Years ago, she’d sewn lacing up the back, like an old-fashion corset, to make the blazer fit her smaller frame.

She gently shook it out before slipping her arms into the sleeves. It wasn’t her favorite leather jacket, but it was good enough. Maybe even better.

“How is it that you found this and no other clothing?”

Isabela shrugged, her eyes sad. “Your closet was empty. That was in that old trunk with the other stuff.”

“My closet was…empty?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, kitten. They…yes, the looting was bad. Your entire block was, well…I got everything from the trunk. No one else could unlock it apparently.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. That meant everything else as gone. Everything. Her whole life, her whole existence, was in this box. She really was starting over.


	12. Isabela

In addition to Marian’s life in a box, Isabela had also brought a bottle of rum and a deck of cards. It didn’t take much to convince Nate and Carver to spend the evening playing Wicked Grace and drinking. And by the end of the night she and Isabela were both singing bawdy sea shanties and giggling like schoolgirls. Carver took the couch, giving up his room to the two women, and Marian curled up in bed with her friend and slept soundly and uninterrupted for the first time in over a month. When she woke in the morning, she had a hangover the size of Sundermount and was alone.

With a groan, she dragged herself out of bed and shuffled down the hallway, just in time to catch Isabela mid-lecture.

“She’s going to go mad if you keep her locked up like this, Caver. Trust me. I know you two are close, but you never really spent time with her in Kirkwall. Sebastian nearly crushed her spirit by not letting her _do_ things, by not letting her be herself. Don’t do the same thing.”

“But it’s safest for her here, with us. And I don’t think she wants to be out there on her own.”

“Andraste’s granny pants, Carver. Of course she doesn’t. Do you even remember what was going on when you found her? She was alone that night. Like she has been most of the last year. She threw her whole life into trying to save that blighted city, all by herself, and it exploded around her. Literally. _Her whole life_ , Carver. When Marian Hawke is in, she’s all in. You _know_ that. Six years with Sebastian wasted. Eight years with that city gone. And she was on her own the whole time. You know what she told me last night, before she fell asleep? That if she hides long enough, no one will remember who she is, but they’ll all still blame the Champion.”

“She said that?” Carver’s voice shook, just a little.

“Yes. Her words, exactly. No one will remember who she is, but they’ll all still blame the Champion.”

Marian didn’t remember saying that. But hearing Isabela repeat the word tugged at something in the back of her mind, something she’d been trying to ignore. She blinked back the tears that had welled up in her eyes and took a step back. Only to bump into Nate, who had snuck up behind her. He was frowning, something deep and pained in his eyes. They both turned back towards the kitchen when Carver started talking again.

“That’s ridiculous. She’s not…she’s… _shit_. I thought she was doing okay.”

“She _is_ doing okay. That doesn’t mean she’s not scared. But there’s a difference between protecting her and hiding her away. You’ve got to help her remember how strong she is, remember _who_ she is.”

“She’s been drawing again,” Carver offered, but he sounded unsure.

“Yes, she sits around the house all day with your roommate and doodles. And have you even noticed what’s going on between those two? Have you seen the way she looks at him? And the way he _doesn’t_ look at her? Sound familiar?”

Marian glanced up at Nate. She hadn’t meant to. It was an involuntary reaction. But she saw the emotions flicker across his face: sadness, anger, shame. She looked away quickly, suddenly not wanting to let them talk about Nate—or maybe just not wanting to hear the truth from them—and walked into the room, forcing a cheerful smile.

“Who wants pancakes?”

“Ooh. You know I love your pancakes, kitten. You haven’t made me pancakes in ages.”

“I’ll make coffee.” Carver volunteered.

Marian wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or annoyed at how quickly they both fell into small talk as they went about the business of making breakfast. There wasn’t a single sign that anything serious had been discussed by anyone. But Marian noticed that Nate didn’t join them until the batter was already poured for the first pancake. At first, she’d thought maybe he’d gone to shower before coming in, but he was still in his sweats and t-shirt when he came in. She frowned at the pan, wondering where he’d been, wondering if he’d disappeared because of the conversation they’d overheard or if it was just more of his strange mood from the day before. She was just reminding herself that it wasn’t really her business when Isabela distracted her with a detailed description of the opening scene in Varric’s newest novel.

After they ate, Nate disappeared into his room again, and Marian sat down with Isabela and Carver to show them some of the more recent drawings she’d done, the caricatures and panels. She flipped through pages of Isabela posing on the bow of a pirate ship. Of medieval heroes—of Carver with a sword nearly as big as himself, of her shooting lightning bolts from her fingers, of Nate with a bow and arrow, aiming at some dark shadow in the distance.

She pulled one out to give to Isabela—a picture of her in her thigh high boots and a corset, daggers strapped to her back, a strapping pirate in a hat making doe-eyes at her. She jotted a quick “to the loveliest pirate I know” at the bottom before handing it over with a grin.

Isabela giggled and kissed her on the cheek.

“Maker’s balls, Annie,” Carver laughed when she handed him one of him fighting a giant dragon. “That’s the coolest thing you’ve ever given me.”

“You know,” he said after examining it for a minute, “you should sit down in the town square and do caricatures of people for change.”

She snorted and, in her best nasally Hightown voice impersonation, said “The Champion does souvenirs now? How far she has fallen.”

“What? You’d be good at it.” He gestured to the drawing she’d given him. “And no one needs to know you’re the Champion. Wear a wig.”

Isabela chimed in, “Or a hat. I found this amazing hat shop by the train station.”

“As soon as I’m off house arrest, Is, you and I will go hat shopping,” Marian laughed.

“I think you’ll be off house arrest soon, Marian.” Nate interrupted their laughter as he walked in the room. “They’ve made an arrest.”

The room fell silent for several heartbeats, those words hanging heavy in the air. Then all at once, Carver, Marian, and Isabela started asking questions.

Nate just held up a hand. His voice was much more subdued than their queries had been. “I got a memo from Cousland. Right now, the details are classified. Once they tie up a few things, there will be a press conference and announcement.” He bowed his head slightly in Marian’s direction and added, “I imagine you’ll be able to go back to Kirkwall in a few days.”

“No,” Carver spat. And everyone shifted their attention from Nate to Carver.

“No?” Isabela repeated, head tilted to one side.

Carver frowned and looked his sister in the eye. “I don’t think…I don’t think you should go back to Kirkwall.”

Marian saw the determination in Carver’s eyes, like he was prepared to argue with her about it. She glanced across the room at the box Isabela had brought over. It was all she had. There was nothing left for her in Kirkwall. And she’d spent the last two weeks telling herself that she didn’t owe Kirkwall a thing. There was no reason to go back. She felt a smile creep across her face as she looked up at her brother again.

“I don’t think I want to go back to Kirkwall, Carver.”

“You—what?” Carver spluttered.

Marian gave a nonchalant shrug that didn’t quite fit the gravity of the conversation. “I don’t know where I’ll go. Maybe back to Ferelden. But I don’t want to go back there.”

“Good for you,” Isabela said.

Marian turned to her friend, noting her wide smile, and asked, “You’re not going to be mad at me?”

“Not at all, kitten. To tell you the truth, Varric and I have been talking about taking an extended vacation from Kirkwall, too. You could come with us, if you want.”

Carver, who finally seemed to find his voice again, declared, “You should stay here.”

“Here?” Marian blinked at him. That was unexpected.

“In Ansburg, I mean. Not _here_ here.” And then he grinned, “Let me be your guy this time.”

“Let you be my…what?” She frowned, now thoroughly confused by her brother. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isabela trying to keep a smile back.

“You always seem to pick where you live for some guy. You ended up in Kirkwall when you ran away from the Blight. And you stayed in Kirkwall for that Chantry prat. I’m the guy this time. Stay in Ansburg. For me. At least for the year.”

She opened her mouth and closed it. Twice. And Isabela doubled over in laughter.

“The Blight?” Marian turned abruptly at Nate’s voice, having forgotten he was there.

“One of Carver’s nicknames,” she said, rolling her eyes and hoping she wouldn’t have to rehash _that_ story.

“The Blight was a disease who warped and destroyed everything in his path,” Carver replied to Nate quickly before turning back to his sister. “I’m serious, Annie. About you staying in town. Move to Ansburg. Please.”

Marian ignored Nate, who was frowning, ignored Isabela, who was still snickering, and instead focused on the blank page of her sketchbook while she considered her brother’s request.

Move to Ansburg. She wondered for a moment if she could really do it. If she could really leave Kirkwall behind. Isabela had been right. She’d put years of her time and energy into that city. _Wasted_ years of her time and energy. And her thoughts had been hovering over letting go, moving on, and starting over for weeks. She knew she was standing on the precipice of _something_. Maybe it was time she just leapt.

Move to Ansburg. It wasn’t her job to take care of Kirkwall or the people there. She wasn’t the Champion anymore. Not really. She was just Marian. Just Annie. She realized that if she was truly going to let go of Kirkwall and leave the Champion behind, if no one was going to remember who she was anyway, it was a chance to reinvent herself. To live the life she wanted to live and not the life others demanded of her. Easier said than done. But she could figure out _how_ to do it later.

Move to Ansburg. She looked back up at Carver. She didn’t know what she would do for work or where she would live or even how often she would even get to see him once the Wardens had him back on his usual assignments. But she couldn’t think of a reason to say no. And looking at the hope written all over her baby brother’s face, she could think of a thousand reasons to say yes.

“Okay, Carver. For you, I will stay in Ansburg.”


	13. Confession

Marian finished lightly shading the edge of Nate’s bottom lip and sat back a bit to examine her drawing. She was confident that she’d captured his lopsided grin, but she still wasn’t content with his eyes. There was something there when he grinned that way that she couldn’t seem to recreate. It was unusual for her. She could picture the light in his eyes. She just couldn’t get it right on paper, no matter how many times she tried. Tonight’s effort was no different.

She’d only slept for a couple of hours the night of Isabela’s departure. The dream that had woken her this time was not of Kirkwall but of Nate. No doubt fueled by her pirate friend’s near constant stream of lewd jokes and barely disguised innuendo. And while she was grateful it wasn’t another nightmare about Kirkwall, she still woke feeling shaky and unsettled—just for different reasons.

Marian studied the drawing in front of her. Drawing Sebastian, whose face was all high cheekbones and clean lines and symmetry, had always been boring to her. Nate, however, had faint scars and rough edges and that crooked smile. And pretty eyes. And that nose. She sighed and dropped her head in her hands. She needed to get that man out of her head. She had more important things to worry about than a man. Especially a man whose job it was to protect the Champion.

That thought brought Isabela’s lecture slamming back into her mind. _No one will remember who she is, but they’ll all still blame the Champion. Help her remember who she is._

And Marian wondered if anyone even knew who she was. If she wasn’t the Champion, was she anyone at all?

She was still the woman who couldn’t stop Kirkwall from tearing itself apart. She still was the woman who ran and hid instead of staying to help. She still was the woman who invaded her brother’s home, invaded Nate’s home. And developed an inappropriate attachment to the man who was only doing his job.

She pushed back at the bitterness that particular thought raised, knowing it was somewhat unfair to Nate. They had already been friends to start. That she had developed more than a little crush on him was her doing, not his. She was the one who had invaded his life, his home.

She let out another frustrated sigh. To keep herself from looking at Nate, she quickly flipped the sketchbook to a different page. Only to find herself looking at another drawing of Nate. It was the partner to the page she’d given Carver. As she looked down at Nate as an archer, she found herself wondering, again, what it was that had been bothering him for the last few days. For all she knew, his discomfort was something she had caused.

“You’re still awake?”

Marian jumped, caught off guard to see the man she’d been contemplating materialize in the kitchen.

“Sweet Andraste, Nate…you startled me.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered a small smile. “I didn’t intend to.”

She watched Nate fill a glass of water at the sink before asking, “What are you doing up?”

He shrugged and took a sip from his glass. “Couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Same,” she replied. She glanced down at her sketchbook and without giving herself time to debate it, pulled the page out of the sketchbook and slid it across the counter to him. She’d given Carver one, and Isabela had taken hers and one for Varric. It only seemed right to give Nate his as well.

He looked down at it and a wide smile spilt his face. “This is…” He looked back up at her sharply and asked, “Can I show you something?”

Marian, surprised at the intensity of his reaction, nodded dumbly and followed him down the hallway. When they reached the door to his bedroom, he stopped and gestured her in. Above his desk was a small corkboard cluttered with snapshots, ticket stubs, and notes. And above that, in a glass display case, was an ornate longbow.

“It was my grandfather’s bow,” he explained. “It’s one of the only things I have from my family.”

“I…I had no idea. When I drew that, I mean.” She studied the bow for a long moment, taking in the details, the color of the wood, the crest stamped into one side. While it was obviously old, it was also obviously well taken care of. She shook her head before finally pulling her eyes away from the bow to look back over at Nate. He had set her picture on a small bookshelf next to the door and was standing just inside the doorway, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

She tilted her head to one side and watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other and not quite make eye contact. Despite the smile he’d given her just a few minutes before, whatever had been bothering him was clearly still bothering him. This was not normal Nate. Part of her went through the list of reasons she should ignore the situation—it wasn’t her business, she was already in the way, she needed to keep her distance. But she pushed those thoughts aside as her concern won out. Or maybe it was her guilt.

“Nate, what’s going on with you?”

His eyes snapped to hers, but he didn’t answer.

“I know it’s not my business, not really. I just…you haven’t seemed like yourself the last couple of days. Is everything alright? Did I…did I do something wrong?”

At that, he frowned. “Why would you think you did something wrong?”

“You’ve been stuck with me for a month,” she shrugged. “I’ve been trying to stay out of your way, but I…I guess I figured you’d get tired of me eventually.”

“Maker…no, Marian. No.” He shook his head. “You’re not in the way at all. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

She smiled, surprised at how relieved she felt by his response. Then her smile turned into a smirk as she said, “Someone wise once told me that it sometimes helps to talk about it.”

He snorted and looked down at the ground. She waited for him to gather his thoughts.

“I’ve been talking to my ex,” he said, finally looking at her. A flurry of questions swelled in her mind, but she resisted the urge to react and waited for him to continue. After a deep breath, he did. “The other day, he called me. I didn’t answer, but we talked online. We haven’t been in touch in a long time now, but he…he needed to tell me some things.” He dropped his gaze back to the floor before adding quietly, “He was involved. In Kirkwall.”

“What do you mean ‘he was involved?’” Marian felt all the air leave her lungs.

“He apologized to me. And said goodbye.” He looked up at her then, and she saw his eyes full of unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Marian. My friend, my…he destroyed everything you had been working so hard for. And I…I don’t know how to apologize to you for that.”

“Oh.” It was all she could say. She sat heavily on the edge of his bed and stared at her hands in her lap, her mind spinning.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

She inhaled slowly and shook her head. “You didn’t do it, Nate. It’s not your fault. It’s not…it’s not your apology to make.”

“That…wasn’t the reaction I was expecting,” he said slowly.

“Where is he now?” She asked quietly.

“On his way to Aeonar.”

“He was the one they arrested?”

She looked up at him when she said it, and he closed his eyes and nodded.

“I turned him in.”

“Oh, Maker.” Everything else dropped away. All she could think was how horrible making that decision must have been. She crossed the room and looped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m so, so sorry.”

He returned the hug, tucking her head under his chin. “It was the right thing to do,” he whispered.

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It doesn’t,” he sighed. After a long, quiet moment, he pulled away, rubbing his hands over his face, and said, “How did this turn into you comforting me?”

She let out a huff of air, an almost bitter sounding half-laugh. “You’ve done more than your fair share of comforting already.” Before he had a chance to respond to that, she asked, “Does my brother know? About the arrest?”

Nate shook his head. “Not yet. No one does.”

“You just disobeyed orders again, didn’t you? By telling me?” Her eyes went wide when he didn’t respond. “ _Nate_. This morning, you said the arrest was _classified_.”

“I don’t give a nug’s ass what Cousland says,” he spat.

Marian jumped at the sudden outburst. And then, when she registered just what he’d said, raised one eyebrow and repeated, “A nug’s ass?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “I…yes.”

She let out a small giggle. “A _nug’s_ ass?”

“A nug’s ass,” he confirmed with a chuckle of his own.

In the back of her mind, she knew it wasn’t that funny, but hearing him say it again made her giggle grow into a full laugh. The combination of the lack of sleep and the need to shatter the tension in the room soon had both of them shaking with laughter. Marian put a hand on his arm to steady herself, and just as they both started to catch their breath, they heard a loud thud from the hallway.

“What in the bloody Void is going on?”

Marian and Nate both spun in his direction. Carver was scowling at them from his now-open bedroom door. Taking in the little dragons on his pajama pants, the hair sticking up on one side of his head, and the growling mabari tattooed on his bare chest, both Marian and Nate fell into fits of laughter all over again.

Carver looked from Nate to his sister and back before mumbling “I hate you both” and slamming his door shut. Nate tried to swallow his laughter, while Marian turned her face to muffle her giggles against his chest. He hooked an arm around her neck and pulled her in closer. She felt him sigh into her hair.

“We should go to bed,” she murmured. And then realized that she was, at that particular moment, leaning against Nate, his arm around her and his bed only a few feet away. Her cheeks were on fire as she quickly pulled away from him and stammered, “I mean, I should…my bed. You should…not…I didn’t…” She snapped her mouth shut.

Nate just chuckled. “I knew what you meant.”

“Right. Of course.” She shook her head. “I’ll just…” And she nodded in the direction of the hallway.

“Good night, Marian,” he smiled, a hint of amusement still in his eyes.

“Sleep well, Nate.”

As Marian settled on the couch, she let her mind wander back to that moment, laughing with him, leaning into him, being held by him. And the butterflies that still fluttered in her stomach whenever he chuckled. But then she heard his voice again. _I know who she is. And I know how to do my job_. But he had also given her classified information, information his job dictated he not share. She groaned and rolled onto her side, trying to push those confusing thoughts aside in favor of sleep.

 


	14. Anders

“Nate.” Carver was standing in the entry to the kitchen, shirt unbuttoned, hair still damp from his morning shower, face pale. “Did you…did you get the email?”

Marian set her cup of coffee on the counter and watched Nate frown at Carver. “What email?”

“The…shit. The memo from Cousland, it… _shit_.” Carver shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nate. I’m really…” He held his phone out to Nate. He read whatever email it was, sighed, and handed the phone back. Carver drew his brows together as he took the phone back. “Why don’t you seem surprised?”

“I knew,” Nate said quietly.

“You _knew_? You knew he did this to _my sister_?” Marian winced at the tone of her brother’s voice and realized the email must have been an official email about the arrest.

“Carver…” Marian started.

“No,” Carver snapped at her. “I want to hear this.”

Nate leveled his gaze at her brother and said firmly, “I found out a couple days ago. He contacted me. We talked online. I copied the transcript of the conversation and forwarded it to Cousland.”

Carver’s scowl dropped and his tone softened. “Maker’s balls. You turned him in?”

When Nate nodded, Carver muttered, “Shit. I’m sorry, Nate. I…” He shook his head.

“It’s fine, Carver. Really. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. You deserved to know.” He turned toward Marian and added, “You both did.”

“It was classified,” Carver said. “I under—wait a second.” He shot Marian a glance before narrowing his eyes at Nate. “You told her already, didn’t you?” And he didn’t even wait for a response. “You did. It was classified, and you told her.”

Nate sighed, “I did. Last night.”

Carver looked across at his friend for a long moment before barking out a laugh and shaking his head. He turned to Marian and asked, “You want to get out of here? Get breakfast?”

“Maker, yes.” She grinned. “Am I allowed now?”

Carver snorted, “Technically, no. But I’m not sure it matters all that much if Nate’s going to keep breaking all the rules anyway.”

Nate’s lips twitched, but he lowered his gaze and said nothing. Marian grabbed the Buccaneers hat, Carver sent a note to the office that he’d be in late, and the trio walked to the diner on the corner. They were just settling into a booth when someone turned the volume on the television up.

“… _reportedly has confessed to planting the bombs inside the Chantry. His motives appear to be in response to what he calls ‘oppressive and inhumane’ edicts of the Chantry_.”

All three turned to the TV above the diner’s counter.

 _“…arrest also clears up suspicions that many had of the Champion of Kirkwall’s involvement in the destruction and rioting in the city_.”

The screen cut to an image of the scruffy, blonde who ran the free clinic in Darktown. Marian inhaled sharply. She’d had no idea that _he_ was Nate’s ex.

“Anders,” she whispered. Nate turned and stared at her. She pressed a hand over her mouth and watched as the shot switched to a crowd of officers and lawyers and Wardens and reporters on the steps of Aeonar, all surrounding Anders, who was trying to keep his head down. Suddenly his head jerked up, and he leaned towards a microphone.

_“We did work together at one time. But that was years ago. We may have agreed on some issues back then, but no. No. The Champion was not involved. She wouldn’t have…Hawke had absolutely nothing to do with this.”_

It was Carver’s turn to cast a wide-eyed glance at Marian just as Anders was jostled out of the camera’s view and the shot switched to Cousland standing in front of a podium. She ignored Carver and kept her eyes on the screen.

“ _In the official press conference just a few minutes ago, Warden-Commander Aedan Cousland confirmed that the Champion of Kirkwall was not involved in the terrorist plots as well as finally addressed her mysterious disappearance_.”

The reporter’s voiceover gave way to Cousland, sounding more than a bit irritated and looking quite menacing with his scarred cheek.

“ _Marian Hawke has been in protective custody with the Grey Wardens since the night of the bombing. Her location will remain confidential until we are certain that there are no threats to her safety_.”

A reporter shouted something, only just audible, about the Champion being a suspect, but Cousland shook his head firmly.

“ _She was never a suspect. Her extensive knowledge of the local politics and inner workings of the city of Kirkwall were invaluable to this investigation. While the identity of the bomber came from one of our seasoned agents, her information helped us track him down._ ”

As the screen switched back to the reporter in the newsroom, Marian’s eyes darted around the diner as a rush of anxiety began to buzz underneath her skin. She stopped when her gaze fell on Carver’s, her hand still pressed to her mouth.

“You’re alright, Annie,” Carver said quietly. “There are only a couple of people here, and your back is to them. Just keep the hat on.”

“It’ll draw more attention to leave now,” Nate added.

She nodded slowly, dropping her hand from her mouth.

“It was Anders,” she said, turning to Nate. “I didn’t know.”

“You knew him?” Nate asked. Marian studied his face, looking for anger, disappointment, _something_. But she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Surely he was surprised at the revelation, but she couldn’t even see that.

Before she could actually answer his question, the server stopped by their table to take their order. Marian ordered quickly, avoided eye contact, and waited until the server walked away before answering.

“Years ago. I met Anders just after I finished my internship with Red Iron. I helped him out with a few things at the clinic. I did a mural there. He helped me get some work, gave me some contacts.”

Carver looked amused by this development. “So…you knew the Abomination? But you didn’t know he _was_ the Abomination?”

Marian glanced at Nate, who was still quiet, before nodding to her brother. “You probably met him, too, Carver. He used to come to the Hanged Man. Varric called him Blondie.”

“Maybe…” Carver rubbed his chin in thought. “Wait…he was terrible at Wicked Grace, wasn’t he?”

Nate snorted, “Yes. He was.”

Marian paused at Nate’s sudden reaction but nodded in agreement. “He always lost, especially when Isabela was there.”

“Oh Maker…he and Isabela used to…” Carver snapped his mouth shut, cutting off whatever memory he’d been about to share, and looked at Nate. “Shit. Nate, I knew your ex.”

Nate just chuckled. “I take it Isabela ‘knew’ him, too?”

Marian wondered if there was any bitterness at all underneath his grin, but Nate looked genuinely amused at the idea of Anders and Isabela. She was caught off guard by the casualness of both Carver’s and Nate’s reactions to this news. She was having trouble processing her own feelings about learning that an old friend was responsible for everything in Kirkwall and that Anders was Nate’s ex, and she felt like she was struggling to keep her feet underneath her in the conversation. When she didn’t answer right away, Carver chimed in.

“I don’t think they were ever together. Wasn’t she chasing after that Rivaini guy back then?”

“He was Antivan, I think, but yeah.” She turned her attention back to Nate, feeling like she owed him more explanation about Anders. “Anders didn’t stick around all that long. With us, I mean. He got really involved with one of the anti-Chantry groups…the Mage Underground, I think? And I got busy with all those jobs for the Viscount’s office and then the Arishok. We just went our separate ways. I haven’t spoken to him in years. I didn’t know he would do something like this. If I had known—”

“You couldn’t have done anything anyway.” Nate cut her off before she could finish her apology. “This wasn’t your fault. Anders is…” He frowned and shook his head before continuing. “There’s nothing you could have done. He would have found a way.”

Marian studied him. He sounded sincere, and in the back of her mind, she knew he was probably right. She remembered how stubborn Anders could be and how passionate he was about the rights of the Gifted. She didn’t want to say it out loud, but that was part of the reason she stopped spending time with him. It wasn’t really the manifestos he kept writing and passing around but the intensity of those manifestos.

She had forgotten about Anders and his manifestos when she’d spoken with Cousland at the very beginning. If she hadn’t, if she’d thought of the manifestos and they’d managed to link the bombing to Anders in the beginning, maybe it would have been easier on Nate. But as she looked at him, his grey eyes steady on hers, she realized that he seemed _fine._ He may have been upset the last two days, but today he seemed completely at peace with the situation.

Carver looked back and forth between them as the waitress dropped off plates of food. “Well, this is awkward.”

Marian felt her cheeks flush and quickly looked down at the plate of food in front of her. Nate just shrugged.

“It’s not that awkward. Thedas isn’t all that big of a place, if you think about it. I knew Cousland before he was my boss. My sister wanted to marry him when we were kids.”

“Yeah. Okay. I always forget about that. _That_ would be awkward,” Carver laughed. Then, after shoving a forkful of eggs in his mouth, he mused, “You know what would be worse though? If Annie had dated Anders.” Carver swallowed and turned to his sister. “Wait. You didn’t, did you?”

Marian snorted, thankful she wasn’t drinking coffee right then. “Maker, no.” She shot a glance at Nate before adding, “Not that…not that there’s anything wrong with dating him.”

Nate chuckled, spreading jam on his toast and said, “No, I think there _is_ something wrong with dating him.” He set the toast down and looked pointedly at Carver. “You know, this is really your fault.”

“My—what?” Carver paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

“It’s those damn nicknames of yours.”

“But the Abomination is so fitting,” Carver replied. “I mean, Maker, look at what he _did._ ”

“I know,” Nate sighed and looked down at his plate. “I know.”

Marian watched as Nate picked up his fork and pushed his hashbrowns around, looking uncomfortable for the first time that morning. She leveled a glare at Carver and waited until he realized just what he’d said and looked sufficiently mortified.

“Shit,” Carver blurted. “Sorry, Nate. I didn’t mean…sorry.” He shook his head.

Nate looked up and gave Carver a small smile.

“You’re right though, Carver. Cousland asked me if I thought Anders was really capable of this. I don’t think the Anders he and I worked with back in Amaranthine was. But this Anders…” he gestured vaguely at the television. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since he left Amaranthine. It’s like he’s a completely different person.”


	15. Relief

Sometime after returning from breakfast, after Carver had left for the office, after watching an awful made-for-TV version of Varric's _Hard in Hightown_ , Marian fell asleep curled up in the corner of the couch.

When she woke, she had stretched out. The bottoms of her bare feet were pressed against Nate's thigh, and his hand was resting on her ankle. She knew she should move. But for one minute, for one selfish minute, she wanted to keep her eyes closed and soak in the warmth of him. For a minute, she did just that. But the longer she pretended to be asleep, the more guilty she felt for taking advantage of the situation. She reminded herself that he was just doing his job and that she was, quite literally, in his way. She wondered if he was even aware that his hand was on her ankle. Maybe he was like Isabela and touched people without really thinking about it. She didn't give herself the chance to debate his motives and pulled her feet away from him.

"No nightmares," he observed, giving her a small smile.

She nodded as she sat up and asked how long she'd been sleeping.

"Hour and a half? You woke up just in time to hear Vael get interviewed." He nodded at the television and turned the volume up.

On the screen, Sebastian was dressed in a finely tailored grey suit and gold tie—not his Chantry robes. He was smiling serenely at the reporter introducing him. He had trimmed the hair that usually curled at the back of his neck. And even as Marian admitted to herself that he looked good, she noticed that she felt neither remorse nor bitterness nor sadness at seeing him, and a smile crept across her face.

And then Sebastian demanded that the Champion come home, to return to her people now that her name had been cleared, and to do her duty to the city of Kirkwall.

"Oh, Void take you Sebastian Vael," she muttered, shaking her head.

Nate arched an eyebrow at her.

"It's not my 'duty,' is it?" She didn't need to ask him though. She knew the answer.

"No, it's not," he smiled as he agreed with her. "It sounds like he's officially left the Chantry. There's talk of him becoming Viscount."

Marian considered this as she listened to Sebastian describe plans for rebuilding the Chantry and its courtyard. "He'd be good at it, I think."

For a moment, Nate looked like he was going to ask something else but then shook his head slightly and said nothing.

"Who else are they pegging for Viscount?" She asked. She hadn't been paying much attention to the political situation there since she left.

"Cullen seems the most likely option. But there are some who are suggesting you as the new Viscount as well."

"Maker's balls," she laughed, "That would be a mistake."

"I think you'd be better than Vael." When she rolled her eyes at him he explained, "You know the people better than anyone there. The real people of Kirkwall. You understand the issues the city faces in a way someone like Vael or even Cullen can't really. You're a fair judge of character, compassionate…I take it from your scowl that you disagree?"

She hadn't realized she was scowling at him.

"Yes," she laughed again. "I mean, not that I'm not appreciative that you think so highly of me, but can you really see me doing it? Sitting in an office all day, arguing with the parasites of Hightown, making speeches that don't matter and doing _that_?" She gestured at the television where Sebastian was getting asked about the tenements in Darktown. She listened as Sebastian artfully answered without really answering and rolled her eyes. "Those tenements are some of the poorest in the Free Marches," she said. "The living conditions there are worse even than Denerim's alienage. But no one in Hightown wants to even admit they exist. They ought to spend some money fixing them up and cleaning up Darktown, instead of building a larger Chantry courtyard."

"See," Nate gave her a smug grin. "You understand the city."

"Maybe," she admitted. "But I'd be a miserable politician. Both in my inability to be slimy and…well, I would quite literally be miserable."

He chuckled. "Both good reasons."

She watched Nate from the corner of her eye, half listening to Sebastian talk about the damage to the Gallows and docks but mostly thinking about Nate and his apparent return to the steady, confident, relaxed Nate she'd gotten used to.

"Nate?"

"Hm?" He glanced back to her.

"Is it at all weird for you that I knew Anders?"

"No," he said without hesitation. He turned to face her fully and continued, "To be honest it's a bit of a relief. It means you knew who he was and, at least on some level, why he would do this."

Then he did hesitate. She interrupted his thoughts, wanting to reassure him.

"I do," she said. "Not completely. I mean, his methods were…what he did was…" She stopped and shook her head before continuing. "But I did know him. I talked with him enough to understand his stance on things. If that's what you mean."

"It is." Nate nodded and smiled again. "Before, I was…well, I was worried that you would associate what he did with me. It was a long time ago, when I knew him."

She noticed the underlying question and returned his smile. "I know you are not Anders."

"I'm glad," he said softly and turned back to the television, changing the channel away from Sebastian.

It wasn't much later that Carver arrived home with news from the office that her protective custody was officially over.

Her grin faltered when she saw that Carver was frowning.

"What's going on?" She asked. "Isn't this good news? You can finally get me off your couch and out of the way."

"Look, Annie…I don't want to scare you, but…it's still not safe."

She laughed. "Very funny, Carver. My name has been cleared."

"Officially, yes." He said. "And because of that, officially, the Wardens can't protect you anymore. But there are people who think it's a cover-up, people who still think you were involved. And the Chantry…they've sent Seekers."

Marian blanched at the word. Nate made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl. And Carver rushed to reassure them both.

"Cousland and I came up with a plan. He promised, Annie. Remember?" Carver tipped his head in her direction. "He promised you'd been taken care of. Even if the Wardens can't do it." To Nate, he added, "He'll be here in about an hour. This is all off books."

Nate nodded, understanding something Marian didn't. "Is he bringing Sigrun or Lyna?"

"Sigrun. She's better with forgeries and…e-cryptions."

"Encryption," Nate chuckled.

"That's what I said," Carver frowned.

"And we don't do 'forgeries,'" Nate shook his head, still grinning. "That would be illegal. Sigrun is an expert in developing aliases."

Marian sank back into the corner of the couch and listened to Nate and Carver, trying to keep up with what was going on. From what she could tell, they were creating a new identity for her. She wasn't just leaving the Champion behind, it sounded like she was leaving Marian Hawke behind as well. That was a different kind of reinventing herself than she'd intended.

When Cousland and Sigrun showed up, the four Wardens gathered around the rarely used dining table. Marian had pulled a chair up to the table as well, but she sat back and watched, quiet and unsure, while they discussed details.

Until Sigrun turned to her and asked, "So what do you want your new name to be?"

Marian blinked at her. And Sigrun grinned. "Come on. This is the fun part. We can make you whoever you want. New name, new birthday…I can make you younger, if you want. With a resume full of modeling gigs? Or maybe a degree in Puppetry from the University of Ansburg?"

Marian snorted a laugh, Sigrun's cheerful nature finally catching up to her.

Sigrun shrugged. "Puppetry is a real program there." Then, her voice softening, she added, "Just because we change some of these things, doesn't mean you're not still you."

Marian sighed, noticed Nate and Carver were both watching her carefully, and nodded. "Can I be Annie?"

Sigrun's grin widened. "Annie it is."

The smile Carver gave Marian then was practically blinding. And it was more than enough to remind her why this was so important. She winked at him and turned her attention fully to Sigrun.

Two hours later, the groundwork for her new identity had been laid out. Sigrun said she'd need a few days to get the documents in order. And Cousland invited them all out for drinks at the Warden's favorite pub to celebrate. They walked the four blocks to The Dragon's Lair, where they met up with two other Wardens, a young, broad-shouldered man and a petite blonde woman. The man turned out to be Faren, who immediately swooped in and introduced himself to Marian.

"My, my. Carver's been keeping you a secret for too long, my lady." Faren smirked and, instead of shaking her hand, brushed his lips across her knuckles.

She resisted the urge to yank her hand back and instead smiled sweetly and, in an imitation of Isabela, purred, "Charmer."

After Faren's attention turned to Sigrun, Marian turned to Nate and whispered, "Is that the same guy you once told me was 'decent,' if I was considering dating one of Carver's friends?"

"I might have, yeah." Nate frowned. "Not sure why, now that I think about it."

She laughed and settled into a seat next to Carver. As she looked around the crowded bar, she realized she was still feeling a bit overwhelmed by having to invent a new identity and the idea that these six Grey Wardens would be the only ones who would know who she really was. But she looked at Carver's eager grin and put on her Champion face and grinned back at him. Eventually, the smile and laugh became genuine as she settled into the group. She played cards, traded barbs with Faren and Sigrun, and drank altogether too much. And she caught herself, more than once, watching Nate chat with the pretty blonde Warden. Both Nate and Cousland seemed engrossed with whatever she was talking about. Lyna. That was her name.

"So…what's going on with you two?" Carver whispered to her when the band picked up.

"Who?" And when he nodded in Nate's direction, she rolled her eyes and whispered back, "Nothing."

"Nothing? You were in his room laughing hysterically in the middle of the night."

She heard the teasing tone and shook her head. "We've been together constantly for over a month now. It's hard to not become friends. Anything else doesn't matter. He's not interested. And I'm not going to waste my time again."

Carver frowned. "He told you he wasn't interested?"

"He doesn't have to."

"You know, he asked for this job. Cousland was going to assign Sigrun for your detail. But Nate asked for it."

Marian shook her head again. That didn't mean anything. Not really. He was Carver's friend. Of course he'd volunteer, for Carver's sake if nothing else. She glanced at Nate again. He was still sitting with the blonde, but he was looking at her. When he caught her eye, he smiled. And she blushed and looked away, only to find Carver smirking at her.

"That's not nothing," he said before getting up to order more drinks.


	16. Pay Phones

Marian’s newfound freedom coincided with the weekend, which meant she spent two days doing almost the exact same thing she had been doing for weeks: hanging out with Nate and Carver.

On Monday morning, Carver tried to tell her she shouldn’t go out by herself. He gave her a list of excuses—it was too soon since the news of Anders’s arrest, she still had no ID card and no cell phone, she didn’t know her way around the city—and she disputed every single one. Eventually, he gave up, grumbling under his breath and tossing her a couple of sovereigns. She forced a triumphant grinned as she pocketed the money. She wasn’t about to give Carver the satisfaction of knowing that all of his arguments only made her more nervous about being on her own.

But she had a feeling Nate knew.

As they were leaving, he paused at the front door and told her about a coffee shop he liked.

“It’s on the northeast corner of the park,” he said, brushing a hand against her elbow. “Next to the pay phones.”

She didn’t even need to see the look in his eyes to know there was an implied offer to call if she needed anything.

Marian nodded to Nate, reassured Carver one more time that she would be fine, and shut the door behind them.

The apartment was quiet save the soft whirr of the refrigerator and the ticking of the clock.

“Right.” Marian took a deep breath. “I can do this.”

She took another deep breath. And leaned back against the front door of the apartment, lost in her thoughts, for a good fifteen minutes before doing anything at all. When she finally talked herself into moving and getting dressed, she pulled Carver’s hat low on her head and made her way down the fire escape, just like she had done with Nate.

As Marian wandered the streets of Ansburg, she found all the same problems that Kirkwall had—neighborhood boundaries determined by class and race, elitist nobles who made her skin crawl, and dark alleys that smelled like fish and piss.

But the more she explored, the more the similarities between Ansburg and Kirkwall faded and were replaced by the glaring differences.

While Kirkwall always had what felt like a cloud of melancholy hanging over it, thick and wet, the air in Ansburg seemed more pensive. The city was both smaller and younger than Kirkwall. What started as a small collection of sheep farms and fishing boats nestled into the hills between the Minanater River and the Green Dales, Ansburg was relatively useless to the Imperium and largely ignored during the Qunari Wars.

There were no statues commemorating battles or a history of slave trade. But there was also no Hanged Man and no tiny, little flat two blocks away with mismatched furniture and kitchen cabinets covered in postcards.

Marian never really walked with a spring in her step, as they say, but the longer she walked, the more her feet began to drag. She hadn’t intentionally headed for the pay phones, but she wasn’t all that surprised when she found herself standing in front of them. And it didn’t take much thought to drop a couple of coins in and dial the number from memory.

The pay phone left an odd haze around Isabela’s voice, but the familiarity of her sing-song “hello” still made Marian smile.

“Hey, Is.”

“Andraste’s sweet tits, Hawke! Is this your new number? Should I save it?”

“No,” Marian laughed. “It’s just a pay phone.”

“Pay phone? Well, I guess that means you’re free. Or have you managed a daring escape from your high-rise prison?”

“Technically, I’ve been released, but the, uh, Warden wasn’t really happy about it.” Marian chuckled as she heard Isabela snort on the other end of the line.

“I bet he wasn’t.”

“Carver didn’t want to let me out on my own. Nate had to testify on my behalf.”

“Did he now?”

Marian rolled her eyes. Even if Isabela’s tone lost a little something through the pay phone’s earpiece, Marian knew the question came with a smirk. She ignored it though, not wanting to discuss Nate at all.

“How are things?”

“Oh, you know…” Isabela laughed. “It’s _Kirkwall_. Not much ever changes. The Hanged Man is still a shithole, Varric is still writing his trashy blog, and I’m still finding bits and bobs around Hightown to keep me busy.” There was a pause and then Isabela’s voice shifted, the buoyancy disappearing. “But you didn’t really call to hear about that, did you, kitten?”

“Yes and no,” Marian sighed. “I just spent the last couple of hours walking around the neighborhood. I think I just…needed to hear a familiar voice.” Marian leaned her back against the wall of the phone booth. “I’ve got a fake name now. Carver, well, Carver’s friends in the Wardens are helping me stay…in hiding, I guess. From the media and…Seekers. I know it should feel…liberating? To have a fresh start. I get that. But...Maker’s balls. I don’t really know what to do with myself now that I’m not really…myself, you know?”

“I do know, kitten.”

And she did. Marian knew Isabela’s past, the story of her ex-husband, that her real name was not Isabela. When she had called, she hadn’t even been thinking that Isabela would know exactly what this felt like. She really did just want something familiar. But it suddenly felt a million times easier to ask the question that she really wanted to ask her friend.

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

“How do I do this?”

Isabela was silent for a moment before saying, “You do this by _doing_ it.”

“That’s…not very helpful, Is.”

“I don’t do helpful, kitten,” Isabela scoffed. “What I’m good at is getting you drunk, getting you laid, or taking you shopping, and as fun as those are, none of them are going to help you.”

“They might.”

“True. But not in the way you want them to.” Isabela chuckled a little before returning to her more serious tone. “You know how to do this, kitten. You’ve done it before. You started over when you came to Kirkwall, you started over when you dumped Sebastian. Nothing’s really different this time around.”

“You mean except for the new name and the Seekers who are trying to find me and everyone who thinks I helped Anders blow up the fucking Chantry?”

“Well, yes. There is that…What’s your name?”

Marian blinked at the shift in topic before answering. “Annie. It’s Annie now.”

“Alright, Annie. Here’s my best advice. Do this the way you do everything else. Headfirst. All in. Stop walking around and sit down somewhere. Find your favorite bar and the best latte in town. Get a job. Stop thinking about Ansburg as somewhere you told your brother you’d stay for a while. Make it _home_.”

“Oh,” Marian breathed into the phone. “That…makes a lot of sense, actually.”

“Of course it does,” Isabela huffed.

And Marin grinned. “So, you _can_ do helpful.”

“Shush. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t worry, Is,” Marian laughed. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before a recorded voice notified Marian that her money was running out. After a quick farewell and a promise to call again, Marian turned from the pay phone to the coffee shop. It was a cozy little place, decorated in warm reds and browns with posters advertising local events cluttering one wall and a large tapestry depicting Dirthamen, a raven in either hand, on the other.

Marian eyed the pastry case full of oversized muffins and scones drizzled in sugary glaze then studied the list of drinks scrawled on the chalkboard behind the counter. She bought herself a latte and a fig scone with Carver’s money, settled at one of the small tables in the corner, and spent about an hour doodling in her sketchbook. Isabela’s advice was reverberating in the back of her mind entire time, like a thousand fans chanting at a wallop match.

_Stop walking around and sit down somewhere._

Distracted from her drawing, she sat back and watched the older man behind the counter rearranging muffins in the pastry case in between making coffee drinks for the steady trickle of customers.

_Find your favorite bar and the best latte in town._

She glanced down at her empty mug. The latte had been surprisingly good. And the pub Carver had taken her to with his fellow Wardens was most likely going to be her favorite pub.

_Get a job._

She looked back up at the bald man behind the counter.

“Right.” She took a deep breath. “Headfirst.”

She set her empty mug and plate it in the dish bin on the corner before approaching the front of the counter and the man in a brown apron behind it.

“Somethin’ else for ya?”

“Actually, yes,” she said. “I was wondering if you might be hiring.”

He frowned at her.

“What d’ya know about coffee, girl?”

“I know that was the best latte I’ve had in the Free Marches,” she answered honestly.

“Course it was,” he snorted. “But flatterin’ ain’t gonna get you hired.”

“Course it won’t.” She nodded, pulling out her best Champion grin. “But you asked what I knew.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, still frowning, and Marian held her hands in fists at her side to keep from fidgeting. After when felt like hours, he gave her a sharp nod.

“I open at 6. Come at 5. We’ll see if yer any good.”

Marian blinked. “Really?”

“Maybe not,” the bald man snorted. “It ain’t gonna work out if I gotta repeat myself all the time.”

“No, no.” Marian said quickly, holding both hands up. “I’ll be here at 5. Thank you.”

She started to turn away, wanting to leave before he could change his mind, but paused halfway and added, “My name’s Annie, by the way.”

The man just grunted, not even looking up from where he’d started to wipe down the espresso machine.

Carver was less than thrilled about the news, claiming she could find something better if she took the time, but Nate congratulated her.

And then she asked them about moving out.

Carver’s face fell, and she instantly regretted not giving more context or thought to how she was going ask.

“I thought you were staying for a while,” he said.

“I am,” she said quickly. “I just meant move out of your place. I should get my own place, you know? I just…” She glanced to Nate, whose expression was unreadable, and added, “It’ll never feel like _home_ if I’m sleeping on your couch.”

“Oh.” Carver scrunched his eyebrows together and looked over at Nate. “Well…”

Marian frowned at the silence that stretched out. She was about to dismiss the idea altogether, but Carver spoke up before she could. And her jaw fell open at the rapid fire conversation that followed.

“Credit checks are a problem.”

“Could take weeks without official resources,” Nate nodded.

“Those motels that take cash are not an option,” Carver scowled.

“Definitely not,” Nate agreed.

“Maybe a sub-let near the university.”

“Random college kid is a tricky variable.”

“Any roommate, really.” Carver nodded. “I can always do it myself.”

“It would be better if wasn’t a Hawke,” Nate countered.

“Good point. Sigrun?”

“Or me.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cousland?”

“We’d have to.”

Marian blinked when they both turned to her. She had a feeling she had missed something in the conversation—or more than one thing.

“I’ll talk to Cousland in the morning,” Carver said. “As long he’s okay with the plan…”

“You and I can go apartment hunting,” Nate finished.

Marian looked from Carver to Nate, in their matching standard issue Warden suits and matching satisfied smiles, and snapped her mouth closed.

She’d definitely missed something.


	17. All In

As promised, Marian called Carver from the pay phone immediately after her interview.

“I got the job,” Marian grinned into the phone. “I know it’s just a coffee shop and all, but…it feels good to finally do something.”

“Congrats, Annie.” Even though he had been unimpressed with her plan initially, Carver sounded genuinely happy on the other end of the line. “Guess all that studying paid off last night?”

“You know what,” she laughed. “I didn’t get asked a damn thing about coffee. He just walked me through how to make a cappuccino, gave me ten minutes to study a little notebook of drink recipes, and then started rattling off orders for me to make. I just had to keep up with his orders without screwing up the drinks too much.”

“Maker’s balls. Really?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t that bad though. I mean, my memory is pretty good, you know? The only way I could have really messed up was if I’d spilled something.”

“You used your Gift to get a job as a barista? That’s rich.” Carver was laughing. “Well, that makes two things we can celebrate tonight.”

“Two?”

“Yeah. Maybe three, actually. Sigrun should have your stuff done later today. And Cousland’s making some calls about an apartment for you. I guess some friend owes him a favor.”

“Oh.” Marian frowned. The apartment situation had been pushed aside in favor of the more immediate need to do research on coffee. “I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Um…I don’t want to sound ungrateful or anything, but I don’t…I don’t think me moving in with Nate is a good idea.”

“What? When did Nate ask you to move in with him?”

“Last night.” Marian frowned. “You two said…I thought…isn’t that what you were supposed to talk to Cousland about? Nate and me going apartment hunting?”

Carver let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, Maker. No, Annie. No, we’re not making you move in with him. We’re just going to put the lease in his name. This is the fastest way. Probably safest, too. Even if someone figured out your new name, there won’t be any record of you living here.”

“Oh,” she breathed, tension she’d only been vaguely aware of draining out of her.

“Maker’s balls.” Carver was laughing again. “I had no idea you thought we meant moving in with him. I mean, it’s not like you’re in Warden custody anymore. You can live on your own.”

“I know that.” She rolled her eyes. “I just misunderstood last night.”

“No kidding.”

“Shut up, Carver.”

“Sorry,” he chuckled. “Just meet us at the pub at 5:30. We’ll celebrate.”

Marian was the first to arrive at the pub. She ordered herself a pint, settled into a chair at the same table they’d sat at before, and quickly downed half the ale. She didn’t have long to wait before Cousland walked in.

“I’m glad you’re already here.” He slid into the booth across from her and, with a grin, dropped a thick envelope on the table. “Don’t open it now, but everything’s in there. _Annie_.”

The combination of hearing Carver’s nickname from someone else and realizing what was in the envelope in front brought a wide grin to her face. She tucked the envelope into her bag.

“Thank you, Commander Cousl—”

“Aedan,” he interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Call me Aedan.”

“Aedan, then.” Marian grinned. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.” He laughed then added, “It’s how I met my wife after all.”

“Your wife?”

“Lyna. You met her the other night, right?”

Marian nodded when she made the connection. The pretty blonde he and Nate had been talking to.

“Truth is,” he leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “Wardens are like family. Some more so than others. And some of us don’t have a lot of real family. Some of us…have lost enough.”

Marian heard the shift in Aedan’s tone and smiled ruefully. “Carver and I are the last of the Hawkes.”

He held his hands out wide and relaxed back in his seat. “My brother and I are the last of the Couslands.”

“And Nate and his sister…” Marian tilted her head to one side, trying to remember if Nate had ever mentioned any other family. “Last of the Howes?”

Aedan nodded. “And we’re lucky. Faren and Sigrun have no one. Lyna’s family disowned her when she joined the Wardens. So we find family where we can, and when we do, we take care of each other.”

“Well,” Marian said. “I’m glad to be a part of the family then.”

“Good,” Aedan grinned. “So let’s talk about this apartment.”

The others began showing up as Aedan explained the situation—a friend from Fereldan who worked as a doorman, who was trustworthy and reliable, and who would have no problem whatsoever ignoring the fact the woman who was coming and going looked nothing like the man whose name was on the lease.

“Bodhan said there would a unit available in just a couple of weeks.”

And Aedan’s grin was more than a little mischievous. But Marian didn’t get a chance to question what he meant because Faren and Sigrun had returned from the bar and were sliding drinks to everyone.

“It’s a great spot. Just a couple of blocks from the park.” Nate said, smiling at her and slinging an arm over the back of her chair. “You’ll like it, Mar— _Annie._ ”

Faren paused, halfway to his own seat, and glanced at Nate. “Annie?”

“That’s right.” Sigrun grinned. “Annie’s official now.”

“Annie’s also employed,” Carver said.

“And with a new apartment on the way,” Nate added.

Lyna raised her glass. “Here’s to a new start.”

“To family,” Aedan added, winking at Marian.

She blinked, looking around the table, at the smiles and the raised glasses.

_A new start._

At Sigrun and Faren.

_Family._

She looked at Aedan and Lyna.

_Headfirst. All in._

At Nate.

_Make it home._

And her eyes finally settled on Carver, matching the brightness of his smile and raising her own glass.

“To a new start.”

Sometime after the third round, Sigrun leaned forward, elbows on the table, and pinned Marian with a _look_.

“So tell me something, Annie. Did you really date Sebastian Vael?”

Marian noticed Lyna cock her head in her direction as well.

“I did,” she replied slowly, drawing her eyebrows together. She wasn’t sure where that question had come from.

“And he was a Chantry brother? When you were together?” Sigrun asked.

Marian groaned inwardly as she realized what was going to come next.

“A _devoted_ Chantry brother?” Lyna added with a smirk.

Marian nodded. “He was.”

“Maker, that’s a shame.” Sigrun giggled suddenly. “That voice of his…”

Lyna leaned closer and asked, “How long were you with him?”

“Six years,” Marian sighed and decided to try to change the subject before they got to the real question. “But it—”

“Wait a minute,” Sigrun’s grin dropped, and she suddenly looked horrified. “You haven’t been with anyone in six years?”

Marian knew she shouldn’t actually answer, but she heard herself mumble “Seven” before she could stop.

Lyna and Sigrun both just stared at her. And she stared back, hoping her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“You know, Annie,” Marian nearly jumped when Faren leaned towards her with a crooked grin. She hadn’t noticed that anyone other than Sigrun and Lyna were paying attention. “If you want someone to help you get back into the game—”

“Oi!” Carver blurted, slamming his near empty pint glass on the table. “That’s my sister you’re talking to.”

Marian jerked her gaze from Faren to her brother, then glanced quickly around the table and realized that whoever hadn’t been paying attention before definitely was now.

While Faren held his hands up in surrender and said, “Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Marian felt Nate shift and drop his arm from the back of her chair. Carver turned his glare on Sigrun, who responded with an apologetic smile.

Lyna quickly changed the subject to her and Aedan’s upcoming Satinalia party plans. And Marian felt an uncomfortable churning in her gut and looked at the line of empty pint glasses in front of her. Maybe she’d had too much to drink. That conversation had quickly gotten away from her. She should’ve just kept her mouth shut. Too much beer. Too much honesty. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.

She felt Nate lean close and whisper in her ear, “Are you alright?”

She opened her eyes and turned to him, nodding. But he frowned, clearly not believing her. Before she could say anything to reassure him, he turned back to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve got to work in the morning. And my boss can be a bit of a bronto’s ass if I’m late.”

“Hey now,” Aedan said, holding both hands up. “Stroud’s not here to defend himself.”

“Who said I was talking about Stroud?” Nate grinned.

Aedan just shook his head, but within minutes, the whole group was finishing of whatever was in their glasses and standing. Marian hesitated, lingering at the table while the others started for the door. So did Nate.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. He arched an eyebrow, and she added, “I…needed that escape.”

“Thought you might,” Nate chuckled. And the sound sent a familiar flurry of butterflies through her. She closed her eyes against the feeling, and when she opened them again, he was gazing down at her with that look in his eyes, that look that she never could get right whenever she drew him. Her thoughts were a little blurry, a cacophony of voices echoing through her mind. And one of them, tiny and distant, reminded her that she’s had too much to drink. But it was quickly drowned out by the others.

_That’s not nothing. Headfirst. All in._

She stepped towards Nate, leaning up on her tiptoes, and pressed her lips to his. For a brief moment, he froze. For another, equally brief moment, he started to return the kiss, a warm hand hovering at her waist. And then he stepped back away from her.

“We can’t…Marian, I can’t…Maker, I…I’m sorry…”

Marian blinked up at him, cheeks burning, then quickly looked away.

“Maker’s balls, I’m sorry, Nate. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have...You were just doing your job, and I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.” She swallowed back a sudden queasiness and forced a smile. “We should catch up with the others.”

She didn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and darting for the door. As soon as she caught up to Carver, she slipped her arm through his. She knew Nate had followed her out, knew he was somewhere behind them, but she refused to look his way.

She kept her mouth shut for the entire walk home and immediately headed for the couch once there. Mumbling a “good night,” she yanked the blankets up over her head, ignoring whatever responses Nate and Carver had. As she lay there, hidden under the blankets, Marian forcefully pushed all of the voices in her head aside.

And for the first time in weeks, she fell asleep to complete silence.


	18. Two Weeks

Marian finished the third pour of steamed milk by dragging the pitcher back across the top of the mug, leaving the image of a tulip in the foam of the latte. With a grin, she set the mug on the saucer and looked up expectantly at her boss.

“Don’t matter how pretty it is, girl,” Tobias shook his head. “It’s gotta taste good.”

Marian rolled her eyes. “Tobias, I made the latte exactly like you make yours. The coffee is the same, the milk is steamed exactly the same way you do it…try it if you don’t believe me.”

Tobias frowned and picked up the mug, taking a long sip. He cocked his head to one side and drew his brows together before setting the mug back down.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “You wanna waste time making flowers in the foam, knock yerself out.”

Marian watched with a wide smile as the bald man trudged back towards the kitchen. That was the closest she’d get to a compliment from him, and she knew it. She took a sip of the latte herself and turned back to the pastry case to reorganize the platters of scones and cakes.

It had been about two weeks since she’d been at the café, and in that time, she found that she enjoyed working there. There was something comfortable about the little café, and despite his gruff demeanor, she liked Tobias.

It had also been about two weeks since Carver and Nate had left, and having a job to keep her busy made the abrupt shift from having two roommates to being alone a little easier to manage.

Everything had happened so quickly that Marian didn’t even have time to feel awkward around Nate after he’d rejected her that night at the pub.

She’d woken the following morning with a thundering headache and a dry throat, mumbled something to Carver about a hangover when he’d poked her, and stayed hidden under the blankets until they both left for work.

But everything changed later that evening with a loud _slam_ of the front door.

_Marian frowned as she watched Carver stalk into the room with a scowl._

_“Carver? What’s—”_

_“The bloody Moustache is sending us on assignment. To bloody_ Orlais _.”_

_At first, Marian laughed. “Careful, Carver. Your Fereldan is showing.”_

_But then she saw Nate—the tension in his shoulders, the way his brows were drawn low._

_“Both of you?” Marian blinked. “Both of you are leaving?”_

_Marian watched Nate’s mouth twist into something she could only call a grimace before turning on his heel and stalking down the hallway towards to bedroom. Marian looked back at her brother, and he met her gaze. And while his anger was still clear in his expression, there was something else in his eyes. It might have been sadness._

_“I’m really sorry, Annie.” Carver said finally. “The timing is shit.”_

_She smiled at her brother, knowing that he was apologizing for having to leave her alone, for not being there for her, and she hoped her smile was reassuring._

_“It’s okay, Carver. I’ll be fine.”_

_As Carver and Nate both readied for their trip, Marian pulled together a quick meal of pasta and steamed vegetables and did her best to push back her fears at suddenly being alone. She reminded herself that she’d been alone before. She had her new start anyway—a cell phone and ID card, a job to keep her busy, a safe place to stay. She reminded Carver of these things multiple times, chiding him each time he told her to be careful and to remember she could call Aedan for anything at all._

_Nate was quiet as he packed. But it was not a calm sort of quiet. He had schooled his face into an impassive expression, but the tension in his shoulders never left. And she could feel him watching her and Carver go back and forth, but he never chimed in—either in defense of her or in support of Carver. She tried to catch his eye, but he always looked away too quickly._

_And every time he did, Isabela’s voice came back to her, as loud and clear as the first time she’d heard it._

And the way he doesn’t look at her.

_But she couldn’t even give that thought any energy. This was the first time she’d actually experienced sending Carver off like this. Normally, she didn’t even know when he was on assignment. And the reality of what kind of job he had—and what kind of job Nate had—was like a kick in the gut. An unrequited crush—or whatever it was—was entirely unimportant._

_She shoved the voice, and all the anxiety and humiliation and disappointment that went along with it, into the furthest corner of her mind possible._

_When Carver and Nate left later that night, Marian hugged them both, whispered reassurances to them both, and made them both promise to come back safely. Carver’s eyes locked on hers, and he nodded solemnly. And she felt Nate’s breath in her hair when he whispered back, “I promise.”_

_About a half hour after they left, just as Marian finished cleaning up from their rushed dinner, Marian’s new phone chimed._

N: You once told me I could text you instead of relying on your brother to tell me how you’re doing. Still true?

_Marian typed out a quick response to Nate without putting much thought into it._

M: Of course. But you do know it’s not your job to look after me anymore, right?

_And once she hit send and saw what she’d actually said, she frowned. It came off a little more rude than she’d meant. But Nate responded almost immediately._

N: Yes. I know.

N: If it’s okay with you, I think I’ll still check in with you.

M: It’s okay with me.

N: Thank you. I’ll let you know when we arrive.

_And Marian fell asleep that night smiling, thinking maybe everything would be just fine._

And true to his word, Nate did check in with her. Sometimes it was just to see how she was doing, sometimes it was to relay a story of something stupid Carver had said to their Orlesian counterparts, and sometimes it was to send a picture. Regardless of the content, Nate was texting her every night—like clockwork. And she was feeling confident that they would be able to move past the kiss easily and return to the friendship they’d had before.

She was shaken from her thoughts by a loud clatter just outside the door. She looked up to find that their sandwich board advertising the coffee drink of the day had blown over in the wind. She sighed, leaving the pastry case behind to go pick the sign up.

“Storm’s comin’,” Tobias grunted when she dragged the sign back inside.

“Looks that way,” she agreed. She balanced the sign against a wall and looked back at her boss, who was leaning his elbows on the counter and staring out the front window.

“Does it snow here?” Marian asked.

Tobias snorted. “Course it snows here, girl.”

She rolled her eyes and walked over to the counter, hoisting herself up to sit on it. He glanced up at her with a small frown but said nothing.

“You do know my name is Annie, don’t you?”

“No,” he said without looking at her. “It ain’t.”

Marian stilled. But before she could question him he barked out a laugh and stood up straight to look at her.

“I know ‘xactly who ya are and why yer here.” He shook his head. “Close yer mouth, girl. You look like a fish.”

Marian did close her mouth. She opened it and closed it two more times before managing to splutter, “What do you mean you know who I am?”

He sighed and leaned his elbows back on the counter. “Even if ya dress in baggy clothes and grow yer hair out, most of us hidin’ Gifts know yer face. But don’t worry,” his voice softened ever so slightly. “I ain’t gonna tell a soul.”

Marian nodded slowly and let silence stretch in between them. She had a hundred questions for the man, but she knew he’d just get annoyed if she started asking. After a few minutes though, her curiosity got the better of her.

“Tobias, what do—” But he cut her off.         

“You oughta cut your hair short again.”

“What?” Marian looked down at him wide-eyed.

He stood again and looked her in the eye. “If the Chantry wants to find ya, they gonna find ya. Don’t matter much what ya look like. An’ _that_ ,” he waved a hand at her hair, which had grown past her shoulders now. “That ain’t _you_.”

Marian blinked at him. “I’m trying to not be _me_ , Tobias.”

Marian was taken aback when he grinned at her. She’d never seen him smile before.

“That’s where yer wrong, girl,” he reached over and tapped a finger to her forehead. “It’s easier to hide if yer comfortable in yer own skin.”

And with that, Tobias marched back into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder just before the door swung shut, “Close yer mouth, girl.”

Marian snapped her mouth shut and shook her head. She couldn’t quite fathom how she managed to find a job in a coffee shop owned by a Gifted man. And she wasn’t sure what to think of someone knowing who she was, even someone else who was Gifted and in hiding. She frowned, checked to make sure Tobias was in the kitchen, and sent a quick text to Aedan. He responded within minutes.

_A: We did a background check. No red flags at all. May be a good ally to have._

She decided to take Aedan at his word and brushed off her initial concern about Tobias, focusing her attention instead on turning Aedan and Sigrun into comic book heroes like she had done with Carver and Nate. After finishing a few rough sketches of them, she flipped to a drawing she had started a few days before, of Nate with his bow and Carver with his sword, both spattered in blood and looking grim. She shivered as she considered what they were off doing at that very moment. Not that she actually knew anything other than “bloody _Orlais_.”

As she worked on putting the four Wardens together on one page, an idea wiggled its way into her mind and she pulled her phone out.

_M: Varric, it’s Hawke. I have a business proposition for you._

_V: I’m listening._

_M: You still want to write about Grey Wardens?_

_V: You know I do. But they have too many secrets._

_M: How about we make up their secrets?_

_V: Explain._

She snapped a picture of her unfinished sketch and sent it to Varric.

_M: Graphic novel. Your story. My art. Let’s make the Wardens a medieval secret order who fight unholy monsters._

_V: Maker’s breath, Hawke. This is brilliant._

The conversation with Varric was interrupted by another text message. It was too early to be from Nate, and Marian frowned when she recognized Carver’s number.

_C: Don’t panic when you don’t hear from Nate today._

Marian felt like the floor dropped out from underneath her. With trembling fingers, she texted Carver back.

_M: What happened? Is he okay?_

_C: He will be._

_M: How bad?_

_C: He’ll be fine._

_M: Carver._

_C: Nate will be fine._

Marian knew she wasn’t going to get anything else from her brother. She hesitated, indecisive for a moment, before sending a response.

_M: If you see him, remind him that he promised me he’d come back safely._

_C: I will._


	19. Wardens

Marian’s mind was bouncing back and forth between three dilemmas: a week’s worth of frustratingly vague and intermittent updates on Nate’s health from Carver, a mysterious lapse in communication from Varric, and an odd pattern of news stories coming out of Dairsmuid. The latter was really just a means to keep her mind occupied and her anxiety to a minimum. Although the more time she studied the various pieces to the Dairsmuid puzzle, the more anxiety came with it. She finally broke down and called Aedan.

When he met her at the pub that evening and she laid out, literally, the news stories, he sat back in his seat and listened as she explained her theory.

“It’s happening again. This is exactly what happened in Kirkwall the year before Anders blew up the Chantry.”

His expression didn’t change the entire time.

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re Warden-Commander Cousland.” She barely held her frustration in check, narrowing her eyes. “Isn’t investigating things like this your job? You didn’t even _look_ at these.” She pushed the papers closer to him. “A Chantry school locked down because of a bomb threat. A Revered Mother killed in a house fire. A Templar arrested for selling Chantry secrets. If this isn’t the Mage Underground, I’m the Empress of Orlais.”

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Marian held his gaze for a moment and, when she realized he wasn’t going to respond, she rolled her eyes and shoved the articles back in her bag. She started to stand up, but Aedan reached across the table and grabbed her hand.

“Sit.”

She glared at his hand gripping her wrist then at him. In that moment, she didn’t care if she was acting like a petulant child.

“Why should I?”

He grinned. “You forget I’m quite used to the Hawke temper.”

Marian huffed a sigh and slouched back into the chair. She waited for Aedan to talk, arms folded across her chest.

“You do realize that I’m currently Warden-Commander of the Free Marches?”

Marian rolled her eyes again. “Yes.”

“And Dairsmuid is in Rivain?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

He held a hand up and cut her off. “Commander Erlea and I speak almost every day. I’m also in contact with Commander Caron in Orlais and know about the situation in Montsimmard.”

“Oh.” The unexpected revelations knocked the anger out of her completely.

“Why are you tracking news stories in Daismuid anyway? And do you want a beer?” He didn’t wait for her to respond before waving at the bartender and holding up two fingers. She shook her head slightly at the non sequitur before answering.

“It was supposed to be a distraction from everything else. My friend Varric hasn’t been returning my messages. It’s not like him, especially when we’re working on a project together.”

Aedan frowned. “Varric Tethras?”

When Marian nodded, his frown deepened. “When did you speak with him last?”

“Six days ago.” Marian watched warily as Aedan nodded, pulled out his phone, and began typing.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he said, not looking up from his phone, “but Varric Tethras going dark for that long is unusual.”

Marian nodded her thanks when the bartender dropped off two pint glasses and waited for Aedan to finish his message.

She leaned forward on her elbows. “You know Varric?”

Aedan took a long sip from his pint before responding, “Not personally. But the Wardens do, in a way.”

“Warden secrets,” she sighed, leaning back again and picking up her beer. “I know. Carver won’t tell me anything either. Shall we talk about something safer, like the wallop playoffs?”

“Maker’s breath, no,” Aedan chuckled. “That’s all Carver and Nate. Not me.” He shook his head then said, “No wonder you and Nate get along so well. Don't ask questions, follow all the rules...you're one of those people who leaves that obnoxious tag on the mattress aren't you?”

Marian had just lifted her glass to take a drink but paused at Aedan’s words. Nate follows all the rules?

“Taking those tags off is not illegal if it is your mattress. I have told you this before.” Marian blinked as Lyna slipped into the chair next to Aedan and into the conversation like she’d been there all along. Lyna nodded to Marian and added, “You are surprisingly difficult to follow.”

Marian set her drink back on the table, un-drunk. “You were following me?”

“She’s been keeping an eye on you for a few days,” Aedan said.

“I actually thought you might have spotted me,” Lyna said with a small smile. “Despite your routine, you take different routes every day you go. It made me wonder if you knew you were being followed.”

“It’s something I picked up when I lived in Kirkwall, back when the news of the Arishok’s deal was fresh and there were reporters hounding me.” Marian shrugged. “I do it out of habit now, or when I start seeing the same faces too many times. But I didn’t see you.”

Lyna and Aedan exchanged a glance.

“What?” Marian sat up a little straighter. “What did I say?” She looked at Aedan first, his green eyes narrowed ever so slightly, then at Lyna, who leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table.

“What faces have you seen too many times?”

Marian let out a laugh. “You do know I have an Eidetic memory, right? I could draw you a picture of every person I’ve seen in this city since I got here. And probably tell you what direction they were walking and what time of day it was.”

“We know you are Gifted. We are concerned that someone might have been following you.”

Marian bristled at Lyna’s tone, which sounded more patronizing than concerned. She narrowed her eyes at the couple across from her.

“You mean aside from you.”

If Aedan Cousland was capable of looking sheepish he might have then. Even if his wife harbored some prejudice towards Gifted—which was a shock, considering Marian hadn’t seen any sign of it before—he had been more than kind to her. Marian felt a flash of guilt. But then she noticed that Lyna’s expression hadn’t changed. At all.

Marian lifted her chin slightly and met the woman’s gaze. “You don’t like me.”

“I don’t dislike you,” Lyna sighed.

“Even though I’m _Gifted_ ,” Marian imitated the tone Lyna had used.

“Oh, Maker’s balls,” Aedan groaned, but before he could interrupt, Lyna shook her head.

“I have nothing against the Gifted. I just think you’re wasting your Gift.”

“Lyna, stop.” Aedan put a hand on his wife’s, and she turned to him. Marian watched as the two had a silent conversation between them. She had no idea what was going on or how in the Void a Gift could be _wasted._ Finally Lyna said to Aedan, “You didn’t know about that house fire, did you?”

And Aedan shook his head and sighed. “Fine, but as far as Carver is concerned, I had nothing to do with this.”

Lyna grinned triumphantly and turned back to Marian.

“I think you would make a good Warden,” she said, still grinning. “Even without your Gift, you are clever and determined. And your Gift would be useful in our office. The kind of memory you have, the way you use it, you would be a brilliant analyst or cryptologist. Or both. But you draw things and make coffee. And Aedan doesn’t want me to ask you. Or mention it to Carver.”

Marian listened wide-eyed. That was not at all what she was expecting to hear. _The Grey_ _Wardens?_ She had never once considering using her Gift for something like being a Warden. But that was because her father had trained her to stay under the radar, to stay quiet, to only do things that anyone else could do. So she drew, just like he did. Not following her father was a foreign concept to her.

And then Lyna’s last words registered and she frowned, “Why not?”

“Carver is…very protective of you. There are ‘Warden secrets,’ as you call them, but Carver refusing to tell you anything?” She shook her head. “That’s just Carver wanting to keep you from worrying about him.”

“And _I_ ,” Aedan interrupted, “respect Carver and believe him when he says you need time to recover from everything you’ve been through, not get thrown right back into it.”

Lyna quickly countered, “But I think you’re more resilient than they give you credit for.” Then, gesturing the Marian’s bag where the news stories were, she added, “And I think you want to do something about what’s going on and not sit back and wait for the world to fall apart.”

Marian blinked at Lyna. Twice. Then looked at Aedan who was frowning but also watching her carefully. She shook her head and slowly said, “It’s not my responsibility.”

Lyna held her hands up and sat back a bit. “I’m not saying it is. Not at all. All I’m saying is…” She shook her head sharply and leaned forward again. “All I’m saying is that I know how hard it is to leave everything behind and start over. Having something to _do_ can help. And you _can_ help us.”

Marian nodded. Having a project to focus on helped. That was something she’d known for years.

“These stories from Dairsmuid that you found.” Marian looked up sharply as Lyna interrupted her thoughts. “How did you find out about the house fire?”

“It was a tiny little story on the back page,” Marian frowned. “It sounds like nothing on its own, but it fits the pattern. I almost missed it.”

“Which is exactly why we need someone like you,” Lyna said steadily.

Marian looked at Aedan, who held both hands up. “I’m not getting involved.”

Marian sat back in her chair and considered everything Lyna had said—all of which made sense. There was also something Lyna hadn’t mentioned but Marian knew: being a Warden meant protection from the Chantry. Being a Warden meant Carver would have one less thing to worry about. But then there was Carver.

“I can’t,” Marian said suddenly.

“Can’t?” Lyna arched her eyebrows.

“I don’t know what Carver has told you, how much you know about our relationship, but we weren’t always close. It’s…complicated.” Marian frowned and shook her head. “But this, being a Warden, that’s _Carver_. This is Carver’s life. I can’t wedge myself into it any more than I already have. I won’t do that to him.”

Aedan didn’t react to her declaration. Lyna, however, frowned. She looked like she wanted to argue—or at least ask for more explanation—but Marian’s attention was jerked away by two, back-to-back chimes from her phone.

She murmured an apology, wondering if it was Tobias needing her to change her schedule, and unlocked the phone. The instant she saw Nate’s name pop up on the screen, she could feel the tension bleed from her shoulders.

“Good news?” Aedan asked.

“Yes,” she replied, unable to keep the smile from her face. “Nate’s been released from the hospital.”

“Oh?” Lyna glanced at Aedan, who had pulled his phone out as well.

“He hasn’t reported to me yet,” Aedan said, frowning.

“Weren’t you saying something earlier about Nate always following the rules?” Lyna chuckled. “I guess chain of command doesn’t count.”

Marian didn’t even have time to react to the sly smile Aedan directed at her before her phone chimed again.

_N: When I get back, can we talk?_

 


	20. Return

Marian wasn’t quite sure when it got so cold, but she was regretting not wearing more layers by the time she was halfway to the apartment. And when she actually arrived, still a good hour before Nate and Carver were due back, she was also regretting cutting her hair short. She was regretting taking Tobias’s strange advice seriously, regretting letting Lyna encourage the idea, regretting letting her overly cheerful new neighbor—a childhood friend of Lyna’s, also Gifted and also hiding from Templars—talk her into going even shorter than she used to. And now her ears were exposed, the back of her neck was exposed, and she was _cold_.

The cold, at least, gave her something to focus on other than the situation at hand. It had been a little over a week since Nate had sent that text message.

Marian didn't even need to look at her phone to picture it anymore. She'd looked back at it plenty of times in the week since Nate had sent it.

_N: When I get back, can we talk?_

She'd said yes. Of course she'd said yes. But she didn't have the guts to ask _why_ or _what for_ or _about what._ She'd just continued on like those seven words didn't hold the weight of a hundred griffons, and her text exchanges with Nate remained somewhat superficial and strangely polite.

In that same span of time, she had received the news that an apartment had been vacated in the building Aedan and Lyna found for her. In that time between finally hearing from Nate and when they came home, she kept herself busy: morning shifts at the café, afternoons drawing and passing messages back and forth with Varric (who was back from his strange absence with the story that he’d been held up by a beautiful Oleasian woman, a story neither Marian nor Isabela really believed), and evenings scouring local thrift stores for furniture (with Lyna, who insisted it was just to make sure Marian’s false accounts and IDs worked, but Marian suspected the woman just liked shopping).

And now Marian was standing in the middle of Nate and Carver’s living room, rubbing still-cold fingers together and staring at the sofa that had served as her bed for so long and trying to swallow back all of the _why_ s and _what for_ s that had been distracting her all day.

“Tea,” she muttered to herself and headed for the kitchen. Keeping busy instead of thinking too much was probably a good idea. And making something warm would help.

She was washing dishes when she heard the front door open. She quickly turned off the water and dried her hands, turning to see Carver push through the front door, a black duffel bag on either shoulder. She resisted the urge to run to him but just barely. He dropped the bags and pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her feet off the ground.

“I think I like having a welcoming party when I get home,” he laughed as he set her down.

“I missed you, too, Carver.” She returned his smile before letting her gaze shift behind him, where Nate was standing. Carver flashed her a grin and shouldered both bags again before disappearing down the hallway.

Marian took two steps towards Nate before pausing and looking him over. His left arm was in a sling, there were yellowing bruises along his jaw and neck, and he had dark circles under his eyes. But as she looked at him, his smile broadened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. And she crossed the distance and carefully wrapped her arms around his waist from a slight angle, trying to avoid the injured arm. He returned the embrace with his good arm and sighed as he let her go.

“And that’s the first time I’ve truly regretted this blighted sling.”

Marian could feel the warmth rise in her cheeks, and she quickly turned away from him, hoping he hadn’t noticed her blushing and wondering if he meant that the way it sounded.

“I like your hair.”

That made Marian turn back to him, a hand going to her neck on instinct. She blinked, and Nate chuckled.

“You look surprised,” he said.

“I keep forgetting I cut it,” she admitted. The compliment was a bit of a surprise, too—Carver hadn’t even said a word—but she didn’t need to tell Nate that.

“When you said you cut it, I didn’t think you would cut it so short,” he continued, tilting his head to the side. “But…you can see your face better now. It suits you.”

Marian stared wide-eyed at Nate, wondering, again, what exactly he meant with the comment. Carver saved her from having to form a response when he ambled back into the room, phone in hand.

“Everyone’s meeting up at the pub.”

When they made their way down to the pub, they found Faren and Sigrun already there. Lyna and Aedan showed up just a few minutes later, arm in arm. The group crowded around a table in the corner, Marian settled into a chair between Nate and Lyna, and Carver immediately launched into an animated retelling of the car chase that led to Nate’s wreck.

“Yes, Carver,” Nate chuckled, “and my misfortune allowed you to be the hero for the day.”

Aedan let out a bark of laughter. “’Misfortune’ is a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t get stabbed, shot, or tied up,” Nate shrugged his good shoulder. “I say that’s pretty good for a run to Orlais.”

“Bloody Orlais,” Carver grumbled, shaking his head.

“You should come in and talk to Tobias sometime, Carver,” Marian said. “I think he might dislike Orlais as much as you.”

“Tobias is your boss?”

Marian nodded to Nate’s question and turned back to her brother.

“There was an Orlesian woman who came in today. You should have heard her.” Marian laughed then shifted her voice into high pitched, nasally Orlesian accent. “Ooh, this café is so cozy, no? But you have no Orlesian teas? Such a shame.” Marian grinned at Carver’s snort of laughter and continued with her story. “Tobias stood over my shoulder the entire time I was making her cappuccino, grumbling about the Empress and Chevaliers and the White Spire. And then he took the coffee from me and served her himself, just so he could try to scare her away with his scowl.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy,” Carver laughed.

Marian nodded in agreement and, as Sigrun picked up the thread of conversation and launched into a story of one of her own jobs in Orlais, fell silent. Tobias had also sent her home early after the Orlesian woman paid, practically pushing her out the back door of the café, grousing about her being a disaster waiting to happen. But Carver didn’t need to know that part. She _had_ been a bit distracted—her mind half focused on Carver and Nate coming home. Thinking back on it now, though, something about Tobias’s reaction felt off. He’d never even threatened to send her home before.

“What’s wrong?”

Marian jumped at the voice, unaware that Nate had been watching her.

“Just tired, I guess,” she shrugged. “I’ve been up since four.”

Nate glanced at his watched before asking, “Do you work tomorrow morning, too?”

“No, thank the Maker,” Marian sighed. “I can sleep in tomorrow.”

Nate nodded slowly, visibly considering something, before saying, “I was…thinking of heading back early myself. Can I walk you home?”

Marian’s thoughts immediately went to the text message. And she nodded.

The familiarity of the situation was not lost on Marian. They both made their excuses and stood from the table. As she buttoned up her coat, she watched Nate from the corner of her eyes and caught him frowning at the coat in his hand.

“Here,” she said, reaching for the coat to help him slip his good arm through the sleeve. She gently tugged the coat over his sling.

“Thanks,” he murmured, glancing away from her smile.

Marian frowned as she turned and headed for the door. Nate hadn’t been awkward like that earlier in the evening. And he’d never been particularly uncomfortable being in close proximity to her. She might have brushed it off, chalked it up to embarrassment over needing with a simple task because of his injury, but the silence that settled over them as they stepped outside was equally awkward.

There was only one other time Marian could think of that Nate had avoided eye contact and kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets like that.

She glanced over at him and thought again about that text message and how hard it had been for him to tell her about Anders. Something in her chest twisted at the thought that he was, once again, holding onto something that painful. Possibly for an entire week. Last time, she’d had to push to get him to talk.

“Nate, was there something you wanted to talk about?”

She couldn’t be sure, considering the streetlights weren’t all that bright, but Marian could have sworn Nate actually flinched at the question. But he answered without missing beat.

“Ah, actually I…yeah. There was.”

Marian clenched her fists in her pockets. It had to be important if he was stumbling over his words. She just hoped it wasn’t Anders again.

When Nate said nothing else, she carefully asked, “Did something else happen in Orlais?”

Nate stopped walking, turning to her with wide eyes and shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “Maker, no. It’s nothing like that.”

Marian let out a small sigh of relief then smiled. “What is it then? Do I need to remind you that it’s helpful to talk about things?”

Nate tipped his head back and let out a quiet chuckle. “You’re not going to let that one go, are you?”

“Nope,” she said. “Not if it works.”

Nate sighed. “Can we keep walking? I think…it might be easier. If we walk.”

Marian nodded and turned again towards her apartment. They walked another half a block before he finally spoke up.

“I wanted to…it’s about the other night. I didn’t really get to…explain.”

Marian’s stomach dropped. She had considered that particular topic when Nate had texted her. In fact, she knew it was the most likely thing he’d meant when he’d texted her, but hearing the actual words—and the hesitance in his voice—was more painful than she’d imagined.

“You don’t have to explain anything, Nate,” she said quietly, looking down at the sidewalk. “If you’re not interested, you’re not interested.”

“No, wait.” he said quickly. “That’s not…I just…I didn’t want to be like Vael.”

Marian froze mid-step. “ _Sebastian_? How…what does he have to do with any of this?”

Nate stopped and turned around to face her, the light from a nearby streetlamp casting a warm orange across his face.

“With my job protecting you, with you stuck in my apartment…I was worried...” He shook his head and took a step closer to her. “I didn't want you to feel like you _had_ to be with me. I didn't want you to feel trapped. I didn't want to push you into something out of convenience or obligation.”

Marian opened her mouth, even though she had no idea how to respond. But Nate kept talking.

“You did that once. With Vael. When we first met…your friends were right about how unhappy you were. Even I could see that.” He sighed, glancing away, and added, “We got to be friends, and then Anders blew up the Chantry, and…everything got complicated.”

“Complicated,” Marian repeated. She still wasn’t sure what exactly Nate was saying.

“I was responsible for you,” he shrugged his good shoulder. “Even for just a friendship, that can complicate things.”

“Just a friendship.” Marian dropped her gaze back to the sidewalk.

“This isn’t coming out right.”

Marian was acutely aware of the cold now, her ears and nose burning with it, and of the fact that they were standing under a streetlight, barely a block from the bar where their friends were currently gathered. She stared down at her feet and replayed Nate’s words in her head, trying to make sense of Sebastian and Anders and what any of that had to do with her kissing Nate.

It was the sensation of Nate’s hand, warm and gentle, on her cheek that brought her eyes back to his.

“I just wanted to do things right. For you. You caught me off guard the other night. But Marian…I _am_ interested.”

Marian blinked. “Are you serious?”

And when Nate chuckled, lips curving into a crooked smile, Marian didn’t care how many butterflies she felt. _That’s not nothing._

“I am.”


	21. Tipping Point

They kissed under the streetlight like characters in some Blessed Age film, his hand cupping her cheek and her fingers curled into the front of his coat. Marian might have laughed at the scene if she’d been able to think clearly. Instead, she grinned like a fool the rest of the walk home and blurted an overeager invitation to meet for coffee the next morning, to which Nate just chuckled and said, “Of course.”

She texted Isabela, feeling only mildly embarrassed about acting like a teenager, and fell asleep still grinning. But she woke feeling uneasy, a dream of smoke and ash lingering with her, and spent five minutes in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering if she was allowed to feel happy, all things considered.

With a groan, she rolled over and checked her phone. Isabela had texted back in the middle of the night.

_I: I want details._

_I: I’m serious, Hawke. If you don’t call me tomorrow, I’ll never forgive you._

_I: And don’t you dare start feeling guilty for having a bit of happiness._

“You know me too well, Is,” Marian sighed, shaking her head and texting back a promise to call. By the time she was showered and dressed and stepping out into the cold morning air, Isabela’s words had sunk in.

“Good morning, Tobias.” Marian unbuttoned her jacket as she approached the counter and her frowning boss. “It’s freezing out there, isn’t it?”

“You ain’t workin’ today.”

“I know,” she grinned. “I’m meeting a friend. Can I get two lattes?”

Tobias grunted, accepted her cash without a word, and didn’t move from his spot behind the register. Marian arched an eyebrow.

“Lattes?” She prompted.

“You know how to make ‘em,” he grumbled, jerking his chin in the direction of the espresso machine.

Marian chuckled to herself and made her way behind the counter, hanging her jacket on the hook in the kitchen before pulling down two mugs and a to-go cup.

She was aware that Tobias had turned around and was watching her with his arms folded across his chest. But she just flashed him a grin and ignored his scrutiny as she focused on the drinks in front of her.

“Just how many you makin,’ girl? You only paid for two.”

Marian rolled her eyes, snapping a lid on the lone to-go cup and holding it out to Tobias.

“This one’s for the Guard Captain, not me.”

“The Guard Captain?”

"She comes in everyday at nine. Triple shot, skim milk." When Tobias made no sign of knowing who Marian was talking about, she added, “Tall, ginger, frightening scowl?”

Tobias shook his head and pulled the to-go cup from her hand. "Yer wastin' yer Gift, girl."

If Marian hadn’t heard those exact words before, she probably would have just rolled her eyes at Tobias and walked away with her two drinks.

But she had heard them. And hearing them again made her pause, frowning down at the two lattes in front of her.

She at least knew what Lyna meant when she’d said it, but Marian couldn’t figure why Tobias would say something like that. It wasn’t like running this tiny café was using his Gift for some noble purpose. Not that she even knew exactly _what_ Tobias’s Gift was—but she assumed it had something to do with how he always seemed to _know_ everything. Of course, the comment could also just be Tobias being Tobias. Sometimes she wondered if he was grump just for the sake of being grumpy.

She sighed and glanced up just as the bell on the door jingled and Nate walked in, hair hidden under a blue knit hat and cheeks pink from the cold air outside.

And when he smiled at her, she couldn’t help but smile back, Tobias’s words all but forgotten.

“Have a seat by the creepy guy,” she said. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

Nate raised his eyebrow in question, and Marian pointed to the large tapestry on the wall.

As Marian settled into the chair across from Nate and slid his latte to him, she explained, “The creepy guy’s name is actually Dirthamen. And he’s not really creepy, but the ravens he has are.”

“Dirthamen,” Nate echoed, looking up at the tapestry. “He’s the Dalish god of…knowledge and secrets, right?”

Marian nodded, noting the Guard Captain’s arrival—right on time—from the corner of her eye.

“He’s associated with loyalty and family, too,” she said. “He’s also Falon'Din’s twin brother. The ravens are Fear and Deceit. Dirthamen outsmarted them in order to stay by Falon’Din’s side. That’s where the loyalty and family bit comes from.”

“That’s right,” Nate said. “I remember the story now. There was a sick deer that Falon’Din took through the Veil, and the ravens tried to stop Dirthamen from following.” Nate paused, turning back to Marian, and smiled. “I didn’t know you were interested in Dalish folklore.”

“I’m not really,” Marian shrugged. “I’ve just been looking at this guy every day, so I asked about him. My new neighbor, the one who knew Lyna back in Ferelden? She studies Dalish folklore at the university.”

“Oh, that’s right—wait. Sorry.” Nate frowned and pulled his phone from his pocket. As he set the phone on the table and slowly typed out a message one-handed, Marian briefly considered offering to help before realizing that would just sound silly. She also didn’t want to get caught staring, either at his one-handed typing or the way he’d pressed his lips together in concentration. So took a sip of her latte and looked up at the tapestry instead.

Marian had asked Tobias once, who was not Dalish and didn’t seem particularly interested in folklore, why he had the tapestry in the café, but he’d refused to give her a straight answer. Instead, he’d said something about Dirthamen being family and then just frowned at her when she’d tried to ask more.

“Sorry about that,” Nate said, drawing her attention back. “Carver’s been harassing me all morning about my paperwork.”

“Oh.” Marian blinked, the mention of her brother reminding her of a thought she’d had the night before. “You know, we probably should tell him about…” She trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence without making things awkward. “Us” sounded a little presumptuous, but “this” felt too ambiguous.

She’d considered texting Carver when she’d texted Isabela. She knew he’d want to know, especially since he’d asked about her and Nate before, but she hadn’t been able to figure out what to say. She wasn’t about to tell her baby brother that she’d kissed his roommate, but _Your roommate is interested in me after all_ didn’t sound like it was worth an announcement at all. But that was really all that “this” was—mutual interest and plans to have coffee. And while that alone was exciting to her, she figured it wasn’t worth a late-night text to her brother.

“He already knows.”

Marian’s thoughts stuttered to a stop.

“He knows?”

“Your brother is really protective of you, you know,” Nate said, his attention fixed on the mug in his hands. “I was in the hospital for a long time in Orlais, and I…am a terrible patient. Delilah says I revert to a five year old whenever I get sick. I may have been a little…grumpy about being there…and not getting to talk to you. And Carver may have…bullied information out of me…by withholding my pudding.”

All Marian could do was stare at Nate as he cleared his throat and looked back up at her, his expression serious despite that last little detail.

“So, yes,” he said firmly. “Your brother knows. He knew that I was planning on talking to you. And he told me he would kill me in my sleep if I ever made you cry.”

“So…you’re putting your life on the line here.” Marian raised one eyebrow. “Must have been good pudding.”

“It was.”

“I see.” Marian nodded, biting back a grin.

Nate’s solemn expression cracked first, and he chuckled, triggering her own laughter. She was shaking her head and getting ready to ask about the flavor of pudding when the door jingled. On instinct, she glanced to see who it was and waved when she saw it was Merrill. Merrill immediately waved back and bounced over to their table.

“Hello, neighbor! What a surprise to see you here. I suppose I should have known you’d be part of the Guild, too. It’s exciting, isn’t it?” Merrill turned a bright smile to Nate. “And you must be Nate. I’m so glad you’re back safe. Annie was very worried about you, you know.”

Marian gaped at Merrill’s rapid-fire greeting, unsure of which part to address first, when Merrill’s eyes widened.

“Did I say something wrong? Oh, no. I’m always saying things wrong.”

“No, Merrill,” Marian said quickly, smiling. “You’re fine. And yes, this Nate. Nate, this is Merrill. She lives in my building, the one I told you about.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Merrill.”

“Oh,” Merrill sighed. “You have a lovely smile. Doesn’t he have a lovely smile, Annie?”

“He does,” Marian agreed, unable to keep from smiling herself as she said it. And unable to look at Nate right then. “I don’t think I’ve seen you at the café before.”

“I’m just delivering a message to Tobias.” Merrill patted the bag slung over her shoulder. “I actually should get going. I have a few more to deliver.”

Marian frowned as Merrill headed for the counter.

“That’s strange. I didn’t know Merrill was a messenger. I thought she was a nanny.”

“She could have two jobs.”

“Smartass.” Marian replied, rolling her eyes. “But, other than at the apartments, I’ve never seen her without that little boy. They go to the park every day. They were even there that day you took me.”

Nate raised his eyebrows. “You remember that?” Then he shook his head. “Of course you do. I forget sometimes how strong your Gift really is.”

Marian glanced towards the Tobias, who was standing at the counter reading whatever letter Merrill had dropped off, as his words came back to her. _Yer wastin' yer Gift, girl._

“Nate, do you think…” She shook her head. “Nevermind.”

“What is it?”

“No. It’s nothing.” She smiled quickly, taking a sip of her latte.

“Marian.” He arched an eyebrow, and she knew that he was asking her to say whatever she’d been about to say. She sighed and set the mug back down.

“Hawke.”

Marian’s head snapped up just as Tobias tossed her jacket at her.

“Get out of here. Backdoor. Now.” Tobias turned to Nate next. “You’re the boyfriend, right? Warden Howe? Keep her out of sight.”

“Boyfr—How did—Tobias? What’s—”

“ _Now_ ,” Tobias growled. “Answers later. Get somewhere safe.”

Marian opened her mouth, a dozen different questions caught in her throat, but Nate was already on his feet, hastily tugging his coat over his sling.

“Let’s go, Marian.”

Tobias had herded them both out the back door before she even had her jacket buttoned all the way. As soon as she was done, Nate grabbed her hand and picked up the pace.

“What in the Maker’s name is going on?”

“I have no idea,” Nate said. “But it’s probably best not to wait around and find out.” He guided her around a corner. “Your place is closest, but we should stick to side streets. I’ll make some calls as soon as we get there.”

They weren’t quite jogging, but they were definitely walking faster than she normally would. And all she could think of as they hurried towards her apartment was the message Merrill delivered. But there had to be something else.

“I need a bloody hat,” she muttered as an icy gust of wind bit at her ears.

“Noted,” Nate said with half a chuckle. “We can work on that after we figure this out.”

“Right,” she sighed as the crossed the street in front of her apartment.

She _must_ have missed something. And that was a feeling she wasn’t used to.

Nate dropped Marian’s hand to open the door for her. And she stepped into the warm lobby, her hand half-raised to greet Bodhan. But the doorman’s frown and furrowed brow made her hesitate.

“I’m so sorry, Messere,” he said quickly, holding both hands up. “I tried to send her away.”

And that’s when Marian noticed the woman standing in the lobby. She had short cropped hair, a square jaw, and Marian _knew_ she had seen her at least once before. And Marian almost smiled at her, almost offered a polite greeting, but she stopped, freezing in place when her eyes settled on the small, gold sun pinned to the woman’s lapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Dirthamen's story came from the Dragon Age Wiki and codex. That tapestry was referenced in passing in chapter 16. And Merrill appears at the park in chapter 10. In case anyone's looking. :)


	22. Seeker

The moment Marian’s brain registered that the woman standing in her apartment lobby was an agent of the Chantry, her instincts kicked in. She straightened her back, set her shoulders, and leveled a steady look at the woman standing in her apartment lobby.

“I am Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of the Chantry.” The woman held out her hand in greeting and smiled, though the smile didn’t quite feel friendly.

Marian glanced down at her hand, considered not shaking it, then thought better of it and grasped the woman’s hand firmly.

“Marian Hawke. Although I suspect you knew that already.”

“I did. Although we have had a bit of trouble tracking you down.” The woman took a step back and mimicked Marian’s stiff posture.

The hair on the back of Marian’s neck stood up, her skin prickling at the thought that the Chantry still wanted to talk to her about what happened in Kirkwall, that they still wanted to blame her for the bombing, the unrest, the riots. She inhaled slowly before speaking.

“I’m sorry, Seeker…Pentaghast was it? But I’ve made my official statements already and cooperated with the investigation. If you want to see those, I’m sure that Warden-Commander Cousland would be happy to send another copy to the Chantry. I have nothing else to say regarding the events in Kirkwall.”

“That’s not actually why I’m here,” the woman said. “We are more interested in bringing you in to discuss current relations between the Chantry and people of Kirkwall, specifically the Gifted community there.”

“’Bringing me in?’” Marian raised her eyebrows. She didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“An unfortunate choice of words, Champion. I only meant that we have been looking for you in the hopes of talking, gaining insight and, perhaps, an ally—”

“If I may,” Nate suddenly interrupted, having kept silent and in the background up until that point, “How did you find Hawke?”

The Seeker’s eyes snapped from Marian to Nate, narrowing slightly before responding.

“I’m not sure I owe you any answers, serah.”

“My apologies, Seeker Pentaghast.” Marian felt rather than saw the shift in Nate’s posture as he took a step forward and stood at her side, holding out his hand. “Warden Nathaniel Howe. Hawke’s relocation to Ansburg was partly my responsibility. While it wasn’t fully confidential, we did take precautions as there were threats directed at Hawke. So you can see how this information spreading so quickly is a concern.”

At that formal introduction and explanation, Pentaghast nodded. “We received information from a former confidant of the Champion—”

“Please,” Marian interrupted. “I am no longer the Champion of Kirkwall.”

Pentaghast ignored her and continued addressing Nate. “Sebastian Vael, who I am sure you are familiar with, told us of her relationship with her younger brother. Considering the Grey Warden’s quick…involvement, coming to her brother for help was a logical option. Once we determined where Warden Hawke was based…well, we have our sources.”

Marian watched as Pentaghast turn to her, eyes narrowed. There was judgment there—accusation—and Marian was done with being blamed for things that were not her responsibility.

“You _are_ still Champion,” Pentaghast started. “The people of Kirkwall still consider you so. And your lack of concern over the city you once called home and the Chantry’s future there is more than disconcertin—”

“Let me stop you there.” Marian took a step forward, ignoring Pentaghast’s grimace at being interrupted a second time. “I am as devoted to the Maker and his bride as any other Fereldan. What I am not devoted to, however, is the Chantry’s corruption, discrimination, and general disregard for the people it claims to serve. I do not owe you or that organization anything. And if you show up at my home again, you will be hearing from my lawyer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Seeker Pentaghast.”

And with that, Marian brushed past the now wide-eyed Seeker, nodded to Bodhan, and marched up the stairs to her apartment, knowing that Nate would be right behind her. Without a word, she unlocked the door and waved Nate it.

Once she locked the door behind her, she scowled at Nate.

“I’ve seen her in the café before. And the ‘beautiful Orlesian woman’ who Varric was with when he disappeared a couple weeks ago? I bet it was the redhead who was with her.” She shook her head. “Bloody Sebastian Vael.”

Nate put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. “Let me give Cousland a call. There’s a good chance she’ll be headed there next.”

Marian watched Nate’s back as he stepped into the living room and made his phone call. And as she stood there, she felt the adrenaline seep out of her body. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was confused. And angry. And there was definitely fear rising in her chest now. Fear at being found. At being _tracked down_. There was also a nagging sensation that things would never be normal for her. She tried to shift her thoughts to Nate, to try to focus on something less negative, knowing that she should be happy about the recent turn of events. But she couldn’t seem to concentrate on that, even when he was standing just on the other side of the room, even when the only sound in the apartment was his voice. And that only added frustration to her tangle of emotions.

She was feeling shaky, unsteady, and she needed to do something. Running or punching something sounded like good options just then, but she settled for the comfortable routine of making tea. She had just turned the kettle on and pulled the tea tin from the pantry when Nate came in.

“You handled yourself well down there.”

“Yes, well,” she said with a wry smile, “the ‘handling’ has left the building.” She held out her trembling hands in front of her as evidence.

She sighed and dropped her hands, looking back up at Nate. He had moved closer to her, just a few feet away, and there was something warm and reassuring in the smile on his face. She smiled back at him.

“What did Aedan say?”

He leaned a hip against the counter just on the other side of the stove from her. “That he’d be prepared to bog Seeker Pentaghast down in jurisdictional paperwork until we can sort out what exactly is going on and how you want to respond. But he didn’t think there was anything to be too concerned about. The case against Anders is all but closed. It seems like the Chantry is actually just looking for support. They’ve lost their foothold in Kirkwall.”

“How have they lost their foothold?” Marian frowned. “Aren’t Cullen and Sebastian in charge there now?”

“They are, but it’s not that simple. It turns out that Vael has little support outside of Hightown. And Cullen has actually spoken out against some of the Chantry’s more stringent policies recently. He’s definitely not in support of Orsino’s politics, but he’s separated himself from Meredith quite a bit.”

“So they want me to do what? Side with the Chantry?”

“Probably.” Nate shrugged. “They’re desperate.”

“They must be,” she snorted. Then she shook her head. “I can’t believe Sebastian would send them here.”

“I don’t want to defend the man,” Nate said. “But it didn’t sound like he ‘sent’ them, just that they used information from him to find you.”

She frowned. He was right, of course. All that the Chantry woman had said was that it was Sebastian’s information. Perhaps her anger wasn’t at him so much as it was at the Chantry.

The kettle whistling started her, and she flinched away from it. Nate pulled the kettle off the burner before she recovered and could reach for it.

“Sorry,” she mumbled and turned to pull two mugs from the cabinet. But the mugs rattled loudly as she tried to set them on the counter, her hands trembling still. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes.

“Marian.” She could _feel_ Nate’s voice, full of concern, sympathy, tenderness. Just as she started to open her eyes and tilt her head back in his direction though, she realized he was already in front of her, wrapping his one good arm around her shoulders and pulling her towards him. She let him, leaning into him as much as she could without crushing the arm in the sling between them. “I promise you everything is going to be okay. They can’t touch you. I won’t let them.”

She looped her arms around his waist, placing each palm flat against his back.

“Are you sure you’re interested in me?” She whispered.

“Yes,” he replied without hesitation.

“Because I’m kind of a mess.”

“We’re all messes.” She could hear him smiling as he said it.

“You’re not.”

At that, he chuckled and pulled away from her just enough to look her in the eye. “Trust me. I’m as much of a mess as anyone. I just keep it in my head most of the time.”

“That’s probably not healthy.” She raised her eyebrows.

“Says you,” he countered.

“I hear it can help to talk about your feelings.”

He shook his head slightly before resting his forehead against hers.

“My feelings,” he said, “are that I would like to have that cup of tea and then do something entirely normal with you. Like hat shopping.”

“Isabela is going to be jealous. She loves hat shopping.” Marian sighed then and pulled away. “I would love something normal too, and I would love a nice, warm hat. But I think I need to talk to Tobias.”

“Ah.” Nate nodded. “That is probably a good idea. I have a feeling he knows a thing or two.”

Marian passed Nate the mugs and pulled her phone out. While he poured hot water, she sent her boss a text message.

_M: We need to talk._

_T: After I close. Your place. Tell Howe to stay._

Marian blinked at the immediate response. He must have been expecting to hear from her. She showed Nate the reply, and he nodded.

“Good. I have a few questions for him as well.”

“Like how he knows who you are?”

“That’s one of them,” he said, handing her a mug of tea.

“I want to know how he knows Merrill, too. And some of the things he’s said to me recently, I just…” Marian shook her head. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Let’s start with what we do know. And maybe sitting at the table?”

Marian nodded towards the small wooden table tucked in the corner of the kitchen. Settling into a chair with her feet tucked underneath her, she set the mug and her phone in front of her and looked across the table at Nate. For a moment, she was struck by a similar image, of Nate sitting across from her in her old kitchen back in Kirkwall. It seemed like a lifetime ago that she was noticing the lines of his face for the first time. In more than one way, it was.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her phone ringing and Carver’s name popping up on the screen.

“Surprised it took him this long,” she said to Nate before answering the call.

“Annie. Are you okay? You’re at home, right? Cousland said I can’t leave the office, but if you want me there, just say the word.”

Marian couldn’t help but smile at Carver’s rush of words.

“I’m fine, Carver. Yes, I’m home. And…Nate’s here with me.”

“Good,” Carver breathed then coughed and cleared his throat. “Right. Good. Stay there. Lock the door. I’ll be over as soon as Cousland lets me out.”

Marian rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Carver.”

Nate arched an eyebrow as she set the phone back down.

“Maker’s balls.” Marian shook her head. “My baby brother just reminded me to lock the door.”

“I think we’ll be fine,” Nate chuckled.

Marian watched Nate take a sip of tea. He was completely calm, completely relaxed. While she wasn’t shaking much anymore, she felt like she was barely hanging on to her own composure. It had been years since she’d felt cornered, trapped like this. But Nate was right. She would be fine. Because she had a lifetime of experience dodging the Chantry and training on keeping her Gift hidden. She had Carver’s and Nate’s unconditional support and Grey Wardens just a phone call away. And apparently she also had people like Tobias, who clearly knew more than he’d ever let on, looking out for her. She was lucky. More than lucky. Most Gifted didn’t have that kind of support and those kinds of resources. And she was never more aware of that than right then, sitting at her kitchen table being told that she would be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra special thanks to xanxan for unintentionally making me feel guilty for not working on this enough.


	23. Secrets

Marian wasn’t sure how long they sat at the kitchen table talking. The conversation seemed to drift between questions they couldn’t answer—about the Seeker, about Tobias, about Merrill—and inconsequential chatter. Marian could feel her anxiety and anger buzzing just underneath her skin, but every time those emotions threatened to break through, the topic seemed to shift to something else. And every time it did, the thought that Nate might be doing it on purpose flitted across her mind. But he seemed so unconcerned, so relaxed, that she wondered if he even realized how much she was struggling to stay calm.

Nate was just in the middle of explaining the physical therapy he would have to do once his sling came off when there was a knock at the door, loud and sharp.

At the sound, Marian jumped. And Nate raised his eyebrows.

“Don’t you have a doorman?”

Marian nodded, glancing at the doorway.

Frown deepening, Nate stood up, but Marian waved him back, explaining that it could be Merrill, who lived down the hall. She had also given Bodhan both Nate’s and Carver’s name permission to let them up without calling first. Nate followed her to the door anyway.

Tobias was the last person she was expecting to see there.

“What are you doing here?” She blurted.

“Called in a favor. Figured you’d be worryin’ a hole in yer stomach.” He jerked his chin towards the stairs and added, “Bodhan knows me.”

Marian frowned. And Tobias frowned back.

“I ain’t gonna have this conversation in the hallway, girl.”

Marian opened her mouth, frustration bubbling to the surface, but stopped when she realized what Tobias said. He’d left his café early. He was worried about her. She let out a huff of air and stepped aside to let him in.

As she gestured towards the living room, she noticed the way Nate’s eyes followed Tobias. All of Nate’s composure from moments before had vanished, replaced by stiff shoulders and a clenched jaw. She remembered seeing him like that twice before, glimpses of the temper he said he worked so hard to keep in check.

And she realized she had been right about him controlling the conversation. Of course he was aware of her emotional state. Of course he was pretending to be relaxed earlier for her sake. She felt a mix a guilt and gratitude rise up in her chest, but she swallowed them both back down and put on her Champion face. Now was not the time to let emotions, hers or Nate’s, take over.

“Is your shoulder bothering you, Nate?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper.

“No.” He turned to her with a frown.

“You sure? You look a little tense. I have some painkillers in the bathroom, if you need them.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need…” He paused and shook his head. “It’s not that, and you know it.”

“I do,” she nodded. “And I appreciate what you’re doing for me, but you don’t need to protect me. I can handle this. I need to handle this. And getting angry at Tobias won’t help anyway.”

Nate’s expression softened and he nodded.

Marian couldn’t help but grin a little. “Good,” she whispered. “Let’s go get some answers.”

When she stepped into the living room, Nate following a step behind her, Tobias looked up from where he’d settled in the armchair.

“Hear you gave that Seeker a piece of yer mind,” he said, an uncharacteristic grin splitting his face.

Marian sat on the couch across from him and looked him straight in the eye. “You sure do hear a lot of things, Tobias.”

His grin faded a bit. “Part of the job.”

“And what job is that? Because I didn’t think knowing everything I do is necessary to run a café.”

Tobias cocked his head to the side, and Marian could have sworn his grin was still lingering in his eyes as he studied her.

Suddenly, he gave a sharp nod, and asked, “Ever hear of the Guild of Dirthamen?”

In the same moment that Marian shook her head, Nate let out a small snort next to her. And Tobias arched an eyebrow at him.

“It’s an urban legend,” Nate said. “The Wardens have a file.”

“And what’s yer Warden file say?”

“Nothing. They don’t exist.”

There was something smug in the way Tobias nodded to Nate and said, “Good.”

Nate started to respond but paused and glanced at Marian, before bowing his head ever so slightly in her direction. Marian gave him a small, grateful smile and turned back to Tobias.

“So what’s the Guild of Dirthamen?”

Tobias waved a hand, gesturing for Nate to explain, who hesitated a fraction of a second before explaining.

“Supposedly, it’s an underground organization that helps the Gifted hide from the Chantry, escape the Circle, relocate families, that sort of thing. Anders used to talk about them.” He shrugged his good shoulder. Then, to Tobias, he added, “But there’s no proof that they ever really existed. The name pops up every few years on a case. I’ve looked into it a few times myself. But every single time, we find nothing. And we specialize in finding the monsters that shouldn’t exist.”

Marian pursed her lips together and tried to remember if her father had ever spoken of such a group. They had spent plenty of evenings, washing dishes together after dinner, talking about Templars and Circles. She could remember the way he rolled his sleeves to the elbows and the way he shook each dish before passing it to her to dry. She could remember his wedding ring sitting on the counter next to the sink, a plain silver band with _Leandra_ engraved on the inside. Those images were as vivid as always, but the conversations had faded into a dull buzz. If he’d ever mentioned a Guild of Dirthamen, she’d long since forgotten the conversation.

Her attention snapped back to Tobias when an entirely different memory surfaced.

“Merrill said something about a guild.”

“Was afraid she might’ve. Gonna have to talk to her ‘bout that.” He rubbed the top of his head with his palm and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. To Nate, he said, “I‘m only tellin’ ya this ‘cause I know she’s gonna come talk to ya about it later no matter what I say. But I figure if she trusts ya, yer worth trustin’.”

“He is,” Marian interjected.

“’t’s what I just said, girl,” Tobias said with a shake of this head. “It ain’t easy stayin’ outta the official files. Warden or otherwise. Like to keep it that way.”

“Noted.” Nate nodded.

“Ya ain’t far off with that story,” Tobias said. “We deal in information mostly. Keepin’ secrets. Passin’ messages. Listenin’. We do what we can to keep Gifted families together.” Tobias shrugged, leaning back again. “That’s it. That’s who I work for.”

While Marian took a moment to process that, Nate asked, “Where do you get your information?”

Tobias arched an eyebrow. “You gonna start spillin’ Warden secrets?”

“Of course not.”

“No disrespect, kid,” Tobias chuckled. “But I ain’t gonna tell you ours either. Not unless yer gonna start workin’ with us.”

Nate rephrased his question, clearly just interested in knowing what Tobias knows, and Tobias dodged it again. Marian closed her eyes and tuned out their bickering. Her mind was overflowing with memories and images, all trying to make sense of this story, to place this new information into some sort of context. News stories of failed Circle escapes. Patients whispering in the corner of Anders’s clinic years ago. Letters left on the kitchen table, addressed to her father with return addresses in Kirkwall. But she was still missing something.

The image of Merrill with her messenger bag finally flickered into focus.

“Merrill brought you a message, didn’t she?” Marian asked. “That’s how you knew the Seeker was here?”

“Didn’t know she’d be at yer place already,” Tobias grumbled. “Only knew she’d found ya. We thought she was headed fer the café. It ain’t a perfect system.”

“She’d been in the _café_ , Tobias,” Marian said, angry tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath before continuing, forcing her voice to stay level. “I made her _coffee_. How long had you known she was with the Chantry? Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

At that Tobias sat up straight. “And what were ya gonna do with the information, girl? Run again? Try hidin’ somewhere new?” He shook his head. “You were doin’ good, finally settlin’ in, lookin’ happy, and then…” His eyes darted to Nate before he looked down again, his voice softening. “Figured ya had enough to worry about, what with the boyfriend hurt and all. S’pose I thought I was protectin’ ya.”

Marian’s eyes went wide at that admission and the sincerity in his voice. But before she could gather her thoughts again, Nate sat forward.

“And how exactly did you know about me?”

Despite the obvious tension in Nate’s voice, Tobias barked out a laugh and waved a hand at Marian. “’t’s written all over her face. Even if I hadn’t been watchin’ her and listenin’ to her babble, I’da known she was in love and I’da known she was worryin’ ‘bout ya.”

Marian’s cheeks lit up, a whole host of new emotions flooding her, and her eyes involuntarily snapped to Nate. He had also turned to her, both eyebrows raised and cheeks as flushed as hers felt. Tobias had said more than she had yet to admit—to Nate or to herself. And her instinct was to protest, to deny that she had been talking about him so much, to shy away from _that_ word. But she didn’t get a chance.

Just as she opened her mouth, Nate’s face broke into a wide smile, full of warmth and framed with creases at the corners. His eyes were practically sparkling. And Marian froze, a voice at the back of her mind, bright and clear, cutting through all of the jumbled thoughts and memories. _He has pretty eyes_.

“You two hang on to that,” Tobias said, his serious tone shattering the moment. “That’s more important than any of this Seeker bullshit.”

Marian frowned at Tobias. “You think the Chantry sending a Seeker to bring me in is bullshit?”

“ _That_ , girl.” Tobias jabbed a finger in Nate’s direction. “Family. Ain’t nothin’ more important than that.” He shook his head. “And anyway…we don’t think Pentaghast and Nightingale want ya brought in like that. The Chantry’s fallin’ apart with the Circles revoltin’ and all. They’re looking for allies, not enemies. And you’d be a powerful one. A crown jewel.”

“I don’t want to be their ‘crown jewel,’” Marian sighed.

“I know that, girl” Tobias nodded. “Think they probably know it now, too.”

“Oh, they definitely do,” Nate said. Marian glanced at Nate. That comment was the first thing he’d had said to Tobias that was not antagonistic or tinged with any sort of anger. She wasn’t sure exactly what triggered the change, but it was reassuring nonetheless.

Even still, she had questions. So many questions. And she wasn’t sure where to start. Where _did_ Tobias get his information? How long had he been watching her? Who else was involved? How far did the Guild reach? Had they been in Kirkwall? Ferelden? Could information alone really save a family? A life? Could they have saved her mother? Or Bethany?

But the questions were getting tangled with old memories, spinning and twisting around each other. It was too much all at once. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, trying to focus on one thing, _something_ , before it all slipped into chaos again.

She jumped at the sound of the front door slamming open and gaped at the sight of Carver marching in, a black duffel bag clenched in one fist.

“Turning down the Wardens for my sake is the stupidest thing you've ever done.”

Carver stopped mid-step, his eyes darting from Marian to Nate to Tobias before narrowing.

“Who the hell are you?”

And Marian, unable to look past the absurdity of the situation, burst out laughing.

"Sorry," she breathed, still chuckling. "Carver. My boss. Tobias. Baby brother."

"Don't ‘baby brother’ me."

Marian was aware that Carver was seething, that his face was red and that he was paying no attention to Tobias, who had actually snorted a laugh at Carver’s reaction. But she was more aware of the look Nate was giving her.

"What is he talking about?" Nate, too, was ignoring Carver's blustering. And his tone—soft, confused, concerned—completely washed away her laughter.

"Lyna…talked to me about joining the Wardens," Marian admitted.

Nate frowned. "When was this?"

"While you were gone.”

"And she said _no_ ," Carver interrupted. "For some bloody misplaced...hero...martyr...reason."

Nate arched an eyebrow at Carver. "You want to try that again?"

"Shut it," Carver scowled, dropping the duffel bag from his hand and pointing at Marian. "She told Lyna and Cousland she couldn't be a Warden because of _me_."

"And how many times did you bitch at me about being stuck in my bloody shadow? How many times did you tell me I was ruining your life?"

"I'm not 19 anymore," he snapped. " _Damnit_ , Annie. The Wardens could've protected you from this."

She grit her teeth, pausing just long enough for Tobias to cut in.

"I know it ain't my place, but maybe she don't need the Wardens' protection."

"You're right," Carver glared at him. "It _isn't_ your place."

Unfazed, Tobias continued, "Ya might think she'd be safe from the Chantry that way, but what makes ya think Weisshaupt ain't just gonna use her? Ya think Commander Cousland can keep her from gettin' pushed into some figurehead position? That ain't much better than what the Chantry wants with her."

Marian clenched her fists in her lap.  

"He's got a point, Carver," Nate said.

"You're not helping," Carver snapped at Nate.

"And _you're_ not listening," Nate countered.

"Damn right, I'm not,” Carver snarled. “Why would I listen to some old man who I don't even know?"

Tobias scoffed at that, but Marian cut off any reply he had.

"Enough!" She stood and leveled a glare at Carver, trying to ignore the tears burning at the back of her eyes again. "I’m tired of sitting around and listening to you about the best way to protect me. These are _my_ decisions. This is _my_ life.”

Carver paled when her voice broke at the end. He took a step towards her, but she shook her head and brushed past him.

“I’m going for a walk.”

When all three started to protest, she turned back and asked, “No one from the Chantry is going to take me into custody right now?”

Carver hesitated, exchanging a glance with Nate before shaking his head.

“And no one’s trying to kill me or anything like that?”

She’d directed the question at Tobias, but all three shook their heads.

“Then I’m no more or less safe than any other Gifted person right now. And I’m going for a walk.” She headed for the front door, grabbing her coat from the hook on the wall and pausing to look back at Tobias again. “If you’re gone before I get back, I’ll see you at work in the morning.”


	24. Snow

Marian hunched her shoulders and pulled the collar of her coat up against the cold air. The streets seemed quieter than normal, as if the usual background noise of the city was muffled by the clouds. She could hear faint chatter coming from the coffee shop she passed. One of the chains that she avoided, not because of loyalty Tobias’s cafe but because of she’d read that they donated money to support anti-Gifted politicians.

She turned the corner and made her way towards the park. Even if it wasn’t the place she was most familiar with in the city, she would have found her way to the edge of the open space. It was a reprieve from the cramped buildings that lined the neighborhood she’d ended up living in. The entire park looked like it had shut down for winter. The grass was dead. The fountain was turned off. Even the outdoor market looked closed.

She slowed her pace when she reached the edge of the brown grass. Everything around her seemed even quieter than it had before. She liked this park. She had since that first day Nate brought her here. It was no longer green and warm and sunny, but it was just as peaceful in the stillness that seemed to have settled over the city—the city she thought she’d be safe in, the city Carver thought she’d be safe in.

She understood Carver’s frustration. She really did. Had she agreed to Lyna’s request, the Seeker wouldn’t have been able to show up at her apartment like that. In truth, hearing Carver’s anger almost made her regret turning Lyna down. There were times growing up when she would have done anything to make her siblings happy. But sometime after moving to Ansburg, after Kirkwall and the nightmares, she’d come to value her relationship with her brother in a different way. They were more equals now than they’d ever been, and she couldn’t help but want to protect that—even if it made him a little mad from time to time.

Marian sat on the bench, the same bench as always, and stared out at the empty space in front of her, hoping that whatever it was that had subdued the city around her would also settle her emotions. There really had been much too much in the last 24 hours. She closed her eyes and let the images in her mind flicker, one at a time, letting the important ones linger and repeat and the insignificant ones fade to the background.

A kiss under a streetlight. The tapestry of Dirthamen hanging in the café. Merrill and her messenger bag. The Seeker standing in her apartment lobby. A lifetime of her father’s warnings. Manifestos plastered to walls in Kirkwall. Tobias watching her. Nate’s smile. Carver’s scowl. Little Bethany staring up at the sky, eyes wide with wonder at her first snow.

Marian blinked rapidly, that last image bringing her back to the present. She wasn’t sure when it had started snowing, but there were tiny flakes drifting from the clouds above. She held her hand out and caught one. It was different than the fat, wet clumps she remembered in Lothering. This was light and insubstantial, melting just moments after settling against her palm. It was _fragile_. She caught another then another, watching each melt before pulling her phone from her pocket. Finding Nate’s number and typing the message was slow, her fingers fumbling, finally feeling just how cold it was now that she was sitting still.

_M: It's snowing._

Nate’s response was immediate.

_N: Where are you?_

_M: The park._

_N: Are you okay?_

She had a dozen responses to that question but decided on the one that weighed on her the most.

_M: Carver's mad at me._

_N: Carver's worried about you. It’s not the same thing._

_N: Are you okay?_

Marian sighed. She knew he was right, and she knew he deserved a more direct answer.

_M: I'm fine._

_N: Really?_

_M: Yes. Really._

And she was. She knew, in that moment, that she _was_ fine. For Carver, Nate, and Tobias, considering who they were and what they did, it was easy to respond the way they did. They could _do_ something about the situation. They each believed they could protect her in some way—and they could. Even with the title of Champion, she was really just an artist, and there wasn’t much an artist could do. That’s what she’d always told herself. But she could at least protect what she had with Carver. The question, really, was what else she could do that she hadn’t yet considered.

“You’re exactly where he said you’d be.”

For a moment, Marian said nothing, too surprised to speak. And when she did, all that came out was a choked, “Carver?”

“Nate guessed you’d be here. Named the exact bench and everything.” Carver shrugged. “Here.”

Marian blinked at the wad of navy blue in Carver’s outstretched hand, hesitating before reaching out to take it.

“He also said you’d want that. Had me bring it from his locker at work earlier.”

As soon as the hat was out of his grasp, Carver shuffled back a step and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Do you want to sit down?” Marian asked quietly.

Carver glanced at her, uncertainty clear in the furrow of his brow, and Marian nodded. Carver sighed and slumped onto the bench next to her. She tugged the beanie over her head, pulling it low to cover her cold ears and scooted closer to her brother.

“Sorry, Annie.”

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, leaning into him, making sure that he knew she meant it. He responded by shifting and putting his arm around her shoulder.

“Maker’s balls, it’s cold out here.”

Marian let out a soft snort then shook her head. “Carver…I don’t want to be a Warden, but it’s not because I’m trying to be a martyr or whatever.”

“Yeah, I know. I get it.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. “Anyway…it’s not like I need you finding another way to make my life difficult.”

And Marian knew that was enough. She knew if Carver was teasing her that they were just fine.

“You’re the one who asked me to move here, you know,” she countered, keeping her tone light.

“Yeah,” Carver sighed. “Look, Annie...I know there’s been a lot of shit, but…I’m proud to call you sister. That’s gone unsaid too long.”

Marian inhaled sharply, glanced up at Carver, and couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t make me tear up, you jackass.”

Carver returned her grin and nudged her knee with his own. “We good?”

“Yeah.” She nudged him back. “We’re good.”

“Right. Let’s go back,” he said, standing. “Because it’s cold, I’m hungry, and it’s not a good idea to leave the invalid by himself for too long. He gets broody.”

By the time Carver left that evening, after an all too familiar night of take out and reruns of _The Stolen Throne_ , Marian was exhausted—too exhausted to argue when Carver declared that Nate was staying the night. She'd started to, but she took one look at the duffel bag Carver had brought earlier and realized that they had obviously planned this hours before. She just sighed and accepted it. It was better than being told she had to go back to their apartment after all.

She gave Nate some privacy to change and pile up pillows on the couch while she put away dishes in the kitchen, her thoughts drifting once again to washing dishes with her father, to Carver and Bethany, to her life before all of this.

When she finished, she found Nate on the couch, shifting and scowling and poking at the pillows piled up behind him. She considered offering to help, but he’d already turned down every other offer she’d made. So she leaned against the doorjamb and waited, biting back a grin when he swore under his breath. He finally seemed to get into a comfortable spot and started tugging a blanket across his lap when he paused, looked up at her and gave her a sheepish smile.

She let out a huff of air and shook her head before crossing the room to flop on the opposite end of the couch. Despite her how tired she felt, her mind was restless. And she knew by the way Nate was watching her that it was only a matter of time before he asked what she was thinking about. She might as well save him the trouble.

“Nate, do you think a Gift can be wasted?”

He frowned. “Wasted?”

“Did Carver ever tell you that Bethany had the same Gift as me?” When Nate shook his head, she continued, “She did, although hers was probably stronger. It would have been, anyway, if she’d lived long enough to get used to it. But she also hated it more than I did. When she was still little, she asked me if she went blind, if she’d be normal. I was…17, maybe? And I was so scared she was going to try to blind herself if I didn’t answer right. Father was away at the time, and I…”

Marian paused and closed her eyes, remembering the way Bethany’s whole body had trembled as she’d asked the question. Then, with a shake of her head, Marian continued.

“I don’t even remember what I told her, but she was right. My memory is barely average if it’s anything I hear or smell. It’s only what I _see_. And what I see…well, you know the kinds of things I remember. Being able to recreate them, draw them, is the silver lining, I guess. But what do I do with that ability? Learn the faces of regular customers at a café.”

She tipped her face to the ceiling and closed her eyes again. She didn't talk about Bethany often, and she wasn’t even sure what kind of response she was expecting.

"Come here, Marian."

When she turned her head to look at Nate, she saw that he had reached his arm out towards her in invitation. But she hesitated, glancing at the sling.

And he gave her a crooked grin. "I'm not that fragile."

She thought of a small snowflake, melting in the palm of her hand, and whispered, "Neither am I."

“You know, I think you're the one that forgets that the most often.” Nate’s grin wavered, uncertainty flashing across his face, before asking quietly, “What Tobias said...is…is it true? Are you...do you...no. Nevermind.” He shook his head quickly and glanced away. “It wouldn’t change anything anyway.”

He took a noticeable deep breath before meeting her wide-eyed stare and continuing, “I’ve never once thought you were fragile, Marian. I know how strong you are. The things that you’ve done, the life that you’ve led, when it _matters_ , you have strength…I don’t know who told you otherwise. But I have always admired you. And I’ve probably been a little bit in love with you from the very beginning.”

_From the very beginning._

_That’s not nothing._

_Headfirst. All in._

Maybe it was a testament to how tired she was or maybe it was something about Nate’s admission, but she felt giddy. And she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from her chest.

When Nate’s eyes went wide, she smiled.

“Me too, you know,” she said. “From the very beginning.”

And she slid across the couch and slipped under the blanket next to him. She felt him exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath for hours and not the mere seconds it had taken her respond, before shifting his arm from the back of the couch to her shoulders and pulling her closer. The sling turned out to be an insignificant obstacle as she curled against him like she had so many times before.

A comfortable silence fell around them, but it didn’t last long. After a few minutes, just as Marian was thinking she might be able to fall asleep right there, she felt Nate tense up. She looked the thin line of his lips and sighed. He clearly had something more important than sleep on his mind.

“It helps to talk, you know,” she prompted.

His lips twitched as he glanced down at her.

“I was just…thinking about your question. I admit I don’t know much about Gifts and how they work. No one in my family has ever been Gifted, and the friends I’ve had, even Anders, well…it’s not something that gets discussed often with…outsiders?” Nate shook his head. “That’s not the best word, I suppose.”

But Marian smiled. “I know what you mean. To be honest, a lot of us don’t talk about our Gifts enough. That was one of my father’s soapbox topics. He always blamed the Chantry for forcing us to stay silent.” She mimicked her father’s voice and added, “‘Circles should be places of learning, not prisons.’”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Yes. I imagine it does.”

“In some ways,” Nate said, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone, “it seems like a Gift is like any other skill, something that can be trained and improves, and if your sister’s view holds true, something that can be lost. I don’t mean that to sound…dismissive of your Gift. But your question about ‘wasting’ it? It seems…well, I can pick locks. I can get past any mechanical lock and most electrical mechanisms—safes, doors, that sort of thing. I can hotwire a car, too. I learned a few of those skills when I was young and…intentionally trying to rile up my father.”

Marian looked up at him with an arched eyebrow, and one corners of his lips slanted up.

“Those skills are part of why he sent me to boarding school in the Free Marches in the first place. They became useful when I was recruited to be a Warden, another choice my father would have disapproved of. But I only use them when necessary.”

“And when is hotwiring a car necessary?”

Though her question was teasing, Nate’s face went serious.

“When Carver is too far away, and a target has discovered my location.”

“Your injuries.” Marian jolted upright and looked at Nate with wide eyes. “The accident. You were driving.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding.

“My point is that maybe your Gift isn’t much different than my lock-picking. It’s something we have, just one of the things we carry. And how we use it, what purpose we put it to, is our choice.” He lifted his hand to her cheek, fingers brushing a nonexistent strand of hair back. “I think that you are really the only one who can decide what is a ‘waste’ and what isn’t.”

Marian let his words wash over her. There was something about them that felt _right_ , like they were made for her to hear, like she had been waiting for someone to tell her that exact thing.

She held his gaze for a moment then smiled, settling back next to him and resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

“It might sound strange, but I like making coffee,” she said, closing her eyes. “But I think I’ll talk to Tobias in the morning.”


	25. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The following scenes take place over a period of about two years._

“Go sit back down. You’re off dish duty until that arm is out of the sling.”

“Can you tell Carver that?” Nate asked, grinning.

“Tell me what now?” Carver asked as he walked into the kitchen.

“That I shouldn’t have to do dishes while I’m injured.”

Carver snorted. “Annie, you know neither of us normally cook, right? Do you even remember the stack of take-out menus we have?”

“That’s not true,” Nate said. “I cook sometimes.”

“Piling a bunch of shit in a pot and calling it soup doesn’t count.”

“Stew, Carver. It’s called stew,” Nate chuckled. “And you know now that it’s snowing, you’re going to ask me to make it.”

“It’s still not cooking.”

“It’s more cooking that your grilled cheese sandwiches.”

Marian watched them go back and forth for another minute before rolling her eyes and interrupting.

“Maker’s balls, it’s like you two got stuck as teenagers,” she laughed. “When you get tired of take-out, come over. I’ll gladly make real food for you.”

Carver grinned widely. “I knew having you close by would be a good idea, Annie.”

“Who said I was talking to you?” Marian smirked, tossing the kitchen towel at his head.

“Hey,” he scowled, tossing the towel back at her. “You’re here for me, not him. Remember?”

“You did promise Carver you’d stay in Ansburg for him,” Nate pointed out.

Marian huffed a laugh and shook her head. “A promise I may come to regret.”

Carver rolled his eyes, muttered something about a shower, and disappeared down the hallway. As soon as he was gone, Nate arched an eyebrow at Marian.

“Do you really think you’ll regret it?”

“Not a chance,” she said with a grin.

… … … … …

"You sure 'bout this, girl?"

Marian lifted her chin. "Yes, Tobias. I'm sure."

Tobias held her gaze for a long moment before nodding once.

"Right. Know that Orlesian place on the other side of the market? The one with the yellow umbrellas?"

Marian nodded.

"Go introduce yerself to the scrawny, blonde kid in the kitchen. He'll tell ya the rest."

“Does the kid have a name?”

Tobias shrugged. “Probably.”

Marian chuckled and shook her head, pulling Nate's hat low over her ears and heading for the door. She paused when a thought struck her and turned back to Tobias.

"I didn't think you'd work with Orlesians."

Tobias snorted. "Kid's Dalish ‘s far as I’m concerned. Ain’t his fault his family didn’t want to leave Halamshiral after Orlais took over.” He paused, shook his head, and added, “Plus the Guild don’t care if yer a Antivan prince or an Orlesian whore. Family’s family, and that friend a’ yours kicked up one hell of storm. We just gotta stay ahead of it.”

Marian nodded slowly. She had a feeling the storm was going to be a lot bigger than even Anders had intended. She shook the thought off and nodded to Tobias once more before opening the café door. She had just stepped out onto the sidewalk when she heard Tobias’s voice behind her.

“Good to have ya on board, Hawke.”

… … … … …

“Trouble sleeping, I take it?”

“A bit,” Marian replied without looking up from her drawing.

“You should have woken me.”

This time, Marian glanced over her shoulder.

“You just came back from a mission, Nate,” she said shaking her head. “And being up early meant I can get some work done on the project with Varric.”

Nate stood behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder, and looked at the panel she was working on.

“Is that me and Carver?”

“Well…sort of. I’d say these characters are ‘loosely based’ on you two. Varric is giving you new names and all.”

She leaned to the side to give Nate a better view and waited for a response.

After a moment of silence, Nate looked down at her and asked, “I know it’s not really me, but can you maybe make my nose a little less…well, less?”

“Why would I do that?” Marian laughed. “I like your nose.”

“You…like my nose?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

“I do,” she said, reaching up and flicking his nose with a finger.

Nate shook his head before leaning down and kissing the top of her head. Before he could fully pull away, Marian reached up and pulled him back down for a proper kiss.

When he pulled away, she smiled up at him and repeated, “I do.”

“Noted.”

… … … … …

“So, did Nate ever tell you how he and I met?”

Aedan’s question caught Marian off guard, and she paused before setting her untouched pint glass back on the table and shaking her head.

“Both our fathers were in politics back in Ferelden,” he began. “They were old friends, war buddies, but somewhere along the way, they had a falling out. There were some…scandals. Politics, mostly. Shady backroom deals that became public…Nate was in the Free Marches for the worst of it. He only came home when his father died. Thing is, he blamed _me_ for his father’s death. He…came after me. Might have killed me if he’d had a little more time, and I hadn’t already been training with the Wardens by then.”

Aedan chuckled a little at Marian’s wide eyes and slack jaw.

“It’s a long story,” he waved his hand dismissively before turning serious again. “The point is we both lost our fathers the same year, and we both blamed each other’s family…for what neither of us had anything to do with. I talked him into joining the Wardens, but it still took us a while to get past all of that and become friends. It was a rough year—for both of us, but for Nate especially. He lost his father and his brother that year. Then one of his teammates got killed, a good friend. And then Anders… _happened_.”

“Wait,” Marian interrupted. “Why are you telling me this, Aedan?”

“Because nearly a decade ago, Nathaniel Howe was one of the most bitter, angry men I knew. And while I still see the occasional flash of that, it’s rare these days.”

Aedan grinned then, his green eyes lighting up.

“I’m pretty damn sure that’s your doing. I just wanted to thank you.”

… … … … …

Out of habit, Marian turned on the wallop match while she made herself a sandwich for dinner. She was only half paying attention, like she did whenever Nate had a match on. But she was listening enough to notice the brief commercial for the late night news, promising the most recent updates on the rioting in Montsimmard. Marian froze at the mention of the Orlesian city. Then she turned the television off and grabbed her phone.

_M: Please tell me you are not in Montsimmard._

_C: I can’t tell you where I am._

_M: Please, Carver._

_C: I can’t tell you where I am or what I’m doing. You know that._

_M: I know. I’m sorry for asking._

She set the phone aside and let out a frustrated sigh. She was still standing at the kitchen counter, frowning down at her half-finished sandwich and trying to not think about what her brother was doing when she heard the front door open. She glanced up and watched Nate walk into the kitchen, tugging his tie loose with one hand.

“I hear you’ve been harassing your brother about his mission,” he said by way of greeting.

Marian blinked at him. “Maker…are you serious? That was only a few minutes ago.”

“Carver’s fine, Marian,” he said, crossing the small space and wrapping his arms around her from behind. “He’s with a good team. And Montsimmard is a long, long way from Gwaren.”

Marian exhaled slowly, letting herself relax against Nate’s chest. And when she realized what he’d just told her, she tilted her head to look up at him.

“Breaking the rules again, Warden Howe?”

“Perhaps,” Nate chuckled.

… … … … …

“Nate?” Marian murmured, blinking sleepily at his silhouette in the dark. “I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

She heard a sigh and a soft apology, and she waited until he’d slid under the covers before asking, “Is everything okay?”

It was another long moment before he responded.

“Marian…have you ever heard of red lyrium?”

Her eyes widened at Nate’s question, and she propped herself up on one elbow. “I have.”

“What can you tell me about it?”

“There was a…situation, back in Kirkwall, with Varric’s brother. It was…awful. A disaster really. Varric and I had to break into the family mansion and drag Bartrand out…well. He never really recovered. Saying it’s dangerous stuff is a severe understatement.” She shook her head at the memory. “Is this for a case?”

“Not officially,” Nate said, putting both hands behind his head. “It’s just some rumors that Cousland asked me to look into. I mentioned it to Carver, and he suggested I ask you about it. He said you knew some…people in Kirkwall.”

“Did he now?” Marian snorted softly and laid back down, pushing Nate’s elbow off her pillow. “Yes, I did know some ‘ _people.’_ I knew a lot of people who bought and sold a lot of things, and not all of them were on the up and up. But it’s not like I was friends with any lyrium dealers. And nobody dealt in red lyrium anyway. At least, not openly.”

“And you…haven’t heard anything recently?”

“About red lyrium? No. All my attention recently has been on the mess in Orlais.”

When Nate fell silent again, Marian turned toward him. “Do you want me to ask Tobias?”

“I do,” Nate sighed. “Cousland made a point that this wasn’t an official case, but it seems too…I don’t know. I have a feeling he kicked it to me because he doesn’t want anyone at the main office to see it.”

… … … … …

When Carver showed up at the apartment, he found Nate nearly doubled over with laughter while Marian, sitting on the kitchen counter, was trying to choke out some story through her own laughter.

“Carver! Tell Nate what you said to Bethany when she lit your birdhouse on fire.”

“Maker’s balls, Annie. You are _not_ telling that story.”

That made her and Nate both laugh harder.

“Right,” he rolled his eyes. “Just remember you’re not the only one with stories.”

Marian’s attention snapped to Carver, her laughter dying in her throat. And Carver smirked.

“Should we talk about the ‘beasties’ on Barlin’s farm?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh?” Carver folded his arms across his chest. “And why wouldn’t I?”

Marian narrowed her eyes at him.

“I have one word for you, baby brother. _Peaches_.”

Carver’s face erupted in a blush, and he shook his head quickly. When Nate started laughing again, Carver shot him a glare.

“You’re supposed to be on _my_ side, you know.”

Nate held his hands up in a defensive position, but before he could reply, Marian said, “Don’t worry, Carver. I bet I can get Aedan to tell us all _sorts_ of things about Nate.”

Nate dropped his hands back to his sides and raised his eyebrows.

“Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be?”

… … … … …

“What’s this?”

Nate opened the manila envelope and slid the document out.

“Shipping manifest,” Marian said, tapping a finger on a line two-thirds of the way down the page.

Nate frowned. “How did you get it?”

“Varric.” She shrugged. “And Tobias.”

“And Tobias knows you’re showing it to me?”

Marian nodded. “He says it’s a fair trade for the tip you passed along last month.”

“I see.” Nate slid the document back into the envelope. “I suppose I’ll have to figure out how to explain to Cousland where this came from.”

“About that,” Marian replied quietly. “Tobias actually suggested I talk to Aedan. And I think it’s…well, I wanted to talk to you first.”

Nate’s frown deepened. “I thought you didn’t want to be a Warden.”

“I don’t,” she said, eyes drifting to the envelope on the table in between them.

“Talk to me, Marian,” Nate said, reaching across the table for her hand. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Everything,” she sighed, lacing their fingers together. “We lost a contact in Val Royeaux and another in _the Orzammar._ Orlais is falling apart at the seams. Now this shipment, and the rumors about…” She shook her head and looked up at Nate. “You know this is bigger than the Wardens. And you know it’s only going to get worse.”

For several heartbeats, Nate studied her face. And Marian waited, knowing he was weighing her words against the situation, against his own information.

“Okay,” he nodded finally. “So what do you want to do?”

“Get Carver as far away from Orlais as possible.”

“And?”

“Follow a lead.”

“You want to go to Ferelden?”

Though his face gave nothing away, Marian heard the surprise in his voice. She hesitated a fraction of a second before nodding.

“If you come with me.”


End file.
